Essential Guilt

I.

In albums as large as pools of tremendous depth
And placed where distinguished avenues cross dirt trails,
Photographs demonstrate how life should be, whispering
Suggestions that mold clay, voices remain
Like stains of Dad’s motor oil on freshly woven fabric –
Immortal threads that run through blood.

Images of faded blacks and whites-turned-yellow
Laced with the echoes of touch, shine on and on of
Hard times, of alcohol and Depression, of worldly
Wars to family feuds, of decisions made over sleepless
Nights. From forgotten relations to unanswered
Expectations, there has been a struggle to see.

II.

A flower blooms into the summer, and a dress is bought
For Prom. Later in the evening, while guilt is born to the
Daughter in the dress that her parents could not afford,
Lilies fight winds as vicious as flames, their roots
Implanted in cool dirt as petals peel from the bud like
Young girls stripping out of Prom gowns. Bread

Made from leftover vegetables and grains, eaten once a day,
Stomachs eating backbones – maybe you’ve never felt this
Pain – for dividends in the form of feasts for grandchildren.
American Mid-West sold dreams like fireworks around the
Fourth of July, but many were duds and even the ones that
Cracked of fire brought burn to the fingers that carried them.

III.

Honest livings made while living in houses with maids,
Closets full of gabardine and slacks and flower-print dresses,
With sterile showers and toilets that flush three gallons,
This home was raised through decades of strain, though
What, I ask, was gained, other than royalties and class,
Besides the essential guilt and shame?