Rancor

Searching for meaning
like a hunter flushes grouse,
my psyche’s sonar
scans history:
what hard-fought battle
left shards of shrapnel
inside my head?
A chronic sleuth
I am compelled, driven
to understand.

What was done to my grandfather
made him do it to my father
and my father spewed it onto me.
I tried to stop the cascade
yet there it is inside my child.
Genetics must be at play
or a ghostly demon from days gone by
yelling directions
like the coxswain to the rowers
keeping them in line.

There are always
stray bullets flying by
or shell fragments,
and what I need to do
is keep my head down,
eyes on my own paper,
listening to my voice,
the kind one,
the wise one,
inside my own body.