To Our Forefathers

We wear your genes well,
my siblings and I
being agile in mind and body,
free of infirmity.
Now we seek our source, the stem
from which we sprout.

Slipped stitches in the tangle
of our blood line
leave loosened fibers in the
weakened weave,
frames sit empty
of our forefathers but for
puzzlement.
Delving discloses little
of the pridian and less
of our prospects.

What of black sheep
obscured by time,
the heroes hidden in history?
All lurk in the limbs
of our lineage waiting
to be acknowledged.