Speaking of Lineage

Don’t mention the rest of us punched silent
rivets in his cell walls, us proteins that rebar his
brickface, that buttress his architecture now warm,
now capable, now built of the junkyard dead.
—Jaswinder Bolina

It’s hard to wake in the morning to poverty and despair and not want to blame our fathers. Look at mine, for instance, handsome enough, fit, smart as all hell, his own hands the size of God most of my life, and just happy to be here. Him, wrapped up in country music, and just fine with the way things are. If the sun don’t come up tomorrow, Mom made him a t-shirt when I was eight, people I have had a good time, a Hank Williams Jr. song.

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Jackson Connor lives and writes in southeast Ohio with his spouse and four kids. He earned an MFA from the University of Utah and a PhD from Ohio University. His essay “Rara Avis” was a notable in Best American Essays, and his recent work has appeared in AGNI, River Teeth, and Stealing Time.

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