i try to balance a history of heredity on my earth. i draw lines to connect me to my earth. but it is an imperfect web, that, out of care, i can’t stay. the fact that my neurological illness draws a line to that of my great grandfather, without drawing a line to his dramatic end–his fall, his jump, from the monument. the trauma of his daughter, my grandmother, her loss. the trauma of her daughter, my mother, her loss. my own loss. and all those early ends, and women always women who are left. my earth generations of unresolved DNA that my body, my earth, has taken on to resolve. illness that survives, a running that will still. a body (so defiant) builds whole cities for its loss, its genders, its bodies, its earths, and just lives.