My Generation(s) - 24/01/18

I am my mother's child.
Twin thorns in my father's side;
wriggling
at just the wrong moment.

"Stay away from my daughter,"
from my mother and his,
from me - oh,
you have your father's fists!

Detective play is childish -
the answer isn't yours to own, but stays buried
with bodies no memory can map
onto hallway walls in family homes.

Branches bend with victim and assailant both;
witness mangled within the root;
and scarlet fruit
ripens rotten.