Fate made me a question created at birth
but only raised when death made me age,
the true meaning of a family tree rooted
and written out in clear DNA, in paths
crossed over and over, of scans, biopsies
and chemical death so slow it sleeps us dead.
I am my mother's daughter and she her own,
all matriarchs of a line doomed to abdicate
the thrown, to hand over the crown too early,
responsibility taken out of clasped hands
to be thrown into those not even lined yet.

And so I too ask ' when will I pay my pound of flesh?

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