by M.K. Hancock
White Catholics in America
Our modern culture is one easily accessed.
It’s toasted Wonderbread, Duke’s Mayo, Bacon,
Barely any lettuce, and a thick slice of fresh garden tomato.
Sweet tea with ice cubes that clink in a mason jar.
Chicken salad sandwiches and
Clean Lacoste shirts.
Grunge, punk, and Southern Rock
Playing in the house
On a Saturday morning,
While Dad works on the car,
Mom crafts in the living room.
The not-so-distant past is the
not-so-distant future.
Let’s break from this time,
And travel way way back,
Into the murky depths of ancestry and heritage.
Remember the Celts?
They started near the Danube,
Spread like wildfire, conquering and blending with other cultures.
Your red hair and freckled fair skin belie the truth
Celtic blood in your veins.
You have the shoulders and hips of a warrior,
Wide and Strong.
Ready to take the weight off the shoulders of those who are burdened.
To help to carry the yoke.
Catholic ideas run in my mind, even if I call myself an Agnostic Buddhist.
The Celts didn’t believe in identity either.
They believed in peaceful infiltration as well as conquest.
But if you could interview an Immortal Celtic Spirit today,
What would they advise?
“Our people are adventurers.
Greed, hatred, and
delusions our only enemies.”
What does my mother say of her enemies?
“Bless their hearts.”
M.K. Hancock is an indie horror author and freelance writer living in Northern Kentucky with her husband and two cats. Her debut novel “The Witch’s Spiral” is available on Amazon. On Twitter @soupkaty.
