Inheritance Tax
Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
Section 1: Bequest
Upon the passing of compassion,
the estate shall transfer
to the remaining heirs of cruelty.
Said beneficiaries shall receive, in undivided shares,
all grudges accrued,
all silences sharpened into weapons,
and the deeds to every ruin they once called home.
Section 2: Valuation of Assets
The inventory includes—
one fractured conscience,
two generations of withheld affection,
and a catalogue of kindnesses unperformed.
Estimated value: nil.
Emotional depreciation: total.
Liquidation advised, though impossible.
Section 3: Encumbrances and Liabilities
The estate is encumbered
by debts of remorse unpaid,
their interest compounding quietly
in the hearts of the living.
Heirs shall assume all obligations
for reparations unrendered,
including (but not limited to):
the cost of therapy,
the inheritance of shame,
and the containment of secondhand rage.
Section 4: Taxation
Each descendant shall pay
the inheritance tax of survival—
levied in sleepless years,
in the slow unlearning of cruelty,
in the ache of raising something gentler
from the soil of what should never have grown.
No deductions shall be made
for innocence, ignorance, or youth.
All must pay.
Section 5: Executor’s Notes
Filed herewith:
no love letters,
no clause for reconciliation,
no apology sealed in trembling handwriting.
Only the residue of harm,
and the administrative burden of forgiveness
assigned to those who did not cause the loss.
Section 6: Closing Statement
Let the record show:
this is what legacy looks like
when love abdicates its duty
and cruelty reigns in perpetuity.
No heirs are blessed.
No wealth remains.
Only the living,
tasked with the cleanup.
The will is binding.
The damage, enforceable.
The estate—
ours to survive.
Keep My Words Alive
If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.
WHERE WORDS MEET MORNING LIGHT
BEGIN EACH DAY WITH SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Every morning at 7:11AM, I send a poem — sometimes soft, sometimes devastating, always true.
💚 Subscribe now to read and breathe and feel along with me 💚
Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe:
