Grief is a family going down one by one
Wild buffalo tread on thin medallions
It’s a sin to be born poor
It’s treason to stay that way
On the way to work at Fort Hood
Shepherd fell in love with a cherry
Mother wore a red gingham apron
While plating macaroni on the base
At home her daughter sat under an eye
That lost her in a blind spot
Back then work had a weight you could feel it
After the war the father got a son
Quilts are folded like flags in the cupboard
The morning shepherd left
We drained a pitcher of cheap wine
Our ancestors had robbed and been robbed
And now everything was a mess
Copyright © 2022 by Monica McClure. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 2, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.