my parents used the term from money it meant a lineage
but I envisioned a woman emerging naked and fully formed
from sierras of unmarked bills there was no derision
in the term but an understanding that she was not like us
she had not worked a day in her life she had never worn mittens
with holes in them her house had central heat instead of a wood stove
she knew how to shuck an oyster always knew which fork
was appropriate there was a lot we knew that she could not
but it was understood that these were Pandora kinds of knowledge
I asked if it was better to not have money then have it but they said
it was more elegant to come from money the nouveau riche
they said suffered from the one great affliction a lack of manners
I said it doesn’t seem like the bad kind of suffering they said
you’re too young to know what shame is but you know I said
they argued behind the closed bedroom door once about a prostitute
I envisioned the prostitute naked on sheets
of crisp hundred dollar bills I understood even then that money
and sex were cousins though the order of the transaction confused me
the art of the deal how to get what you want
withhold whatever has value my father kept secret
that he was starting another family we could have
with a little detective work sleuthed it out rule number one
follow the money people will do terrible things to get it
my half brother was born no— he was practically minted
Copyright © 2017 Ross White. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in Tin House, Winter 2017.