Shame has trailed me throughout my life and can really weigh me down. Once, someone asked me where I got my shame from. The easy answer is 13 years of Catholic school, but I know it’s more complicated than that. This poem is an imperfect meditation on that question. During the writing process, I paired this question with the images I got in my head when my mother told me about having to eat duck’s blood soup at Easter. That’s one Polish tradition that she didn’t perpetuate with us! This memory of hers, combined with other family stories and secrets created this poem.

Thanks to The Flying Island Journal, which is published by The Indiana Writers Center, for publishing this piece.