nativity//Adam McKee

it was told to me, the way miracles usually are
a sharp bathing of light untaxed by blood or bile
for my father’s sake I’m sure - his strong constitution
had done him in again - my mother said
she worked with her hands and understood
what it meant to be offered up to the birds
or how wet soil holds its form

my father asked of being fed
he couldnot see the end
each a product of their home
as I’m a product of their own
how every story is given its own grand arc

it was actually quite a normal day
at the hospital, after the hospital
we all just went about our ways
work and play
but mostly I remember my mother
and the familiar look she gave
when my father boasted about handling change
and the first time I understood
he does it by staying the same

sweat
tasted the air around his skin
the yard, its curated edges, took it all in
my father took with his hands
and understood what it meant to sacrifice
asked us all to watch, he’d found some grub
altered it on some high fence post
said the crows were sure to come

but, it’s winter now
and it’s been a while since I’ve been home

Adam Mckee (he/him) is from Oregon and spent part of his childhood in North Carolina & Georgia. He has loved poetry since elementary school, but has only recently started writing it himself.