Rift

My Grandmother was anti-Semitic.
It split my family in two. My Dad
not good enough despite the torpedoes
that sped his way on merchant ships.
One time he went back to get his gloves
but water parted them and all there was,
was death and fire and oil.

In the local pub a farmer sits
red faced and alone. His wife
never joins him. I talk to him
for a while until he tells me
he’s a racist and seems proud.
I am undone. I stagger under
the weight of his words

My challenge goes unheard
and I shrink and curl and hope.