My Ancestors Lament
This is not a poem
about guns. This is a poem
for my ancestors who died
with the peace of knowing
their children could grow old
and with many children
to call their own own.
Great great great grandma—
she walked her children to school
with a gun in her skirts because
the wolves had worried her heels
too many times before.
Those hungry wolves.
Great great great grandpa took a chair
and a shotgun into the woods,
into the dark night. He sat
the property line and fired shots
when the men came to steal food,
men who stole and killed
because a war had taken
all their bread.
Those hungry wolves.
Great great great grandpa sat
in the cold dark all night
protecting his children
because his great great grandfather,
a rifleman, marched at Kings Mountain.
Not led by bayonets or love
of muskets but beneath a banner
that read:
"For liberty
And for justice
For all
For all of our children
And grandchildren."
Great great great grandpa's
great grandfather was sheriff
with a golden star on his chest
and a bullet in his back.
His daughter watched it.
Him put to rest by red coats
in the yard beside his house.
And then she watched as we won
our independence.
And I am sure
she kept a rifle above the door.
Because she had seen red wolves.
This is not a poem
about guns. This is a poem
for my ancestors who died
with the peace of knowing
their children could grow old
and with many children
to call their own own.
Now they cry out
from ancient graves
with tombstones too old to read,
"Beware hungry wolves
who do not love
your children."
A child, a cousin's cousin,
whose friend says, "You should just die."
All the guns are in the safe, but
cousin's cousin found
Grandpa's Old Faithful.
Too old to be used, surely.
Kept polished with pride,
just out of reach.
When cousin's cousin's parents came home,
they were too late to save him
from the wolves.
Another child, one I do not know,
is wrapped in a star spangled banner
posing with a sleek black barrel
in front of his face
for a picture for instagram
for like after like after like.
This is not
a well regulated militia.
The news will say he was
a lone wolf. Beware the hungry wolves
whose compliance has been purchased.
Wolves who treat our Constitution
as exploitable
And our children
As expendable.
Wolves who point to this child
and say the wolves
were only in his head.
