While sitting in a
Creative writing lecture
With chairs organized
Into a circle
My first thought,
I wasn’t supposed to be here with you
Heart starts to race
Temperature slightly elevated
Readying my vein for this poetic fix

Such anticipation
Emotional game of —“duck duck goose”
All eyes on me
As if I were Tupac Shakur and this was 1996

A poem of triumph— perhaps,
An ode to the spirit of Herbert Gans.
Pulling myself up by the bootstraps
Trying to escape the chains of hard luck

Maybe even a poem of choices;
Deciding on one of two roads like Robert Frost
Even if my pen bled of this,
No one would really give a ****.

Is it an absolute that pain sells?
Is human hurt the only thing that moves you?
I still struggle to believe this is the case
In my world,      pain is a place
Pain is that place where,
Dad walks out and never looks back
No one hears your cries
Summer vacations are non-existent
Dinner is a small bowl of plain white rice
A weekly salary at the age of nine

Four years and still no birthday card from Dad…

Mom’s tears run deeper than the Hudson,
Her face enveloped by the smoke of Newport cigarettes;
She was the portrait of a woman scorned.
Her curse,
I look just like him.

High school days full of haze
Escaped reality with Mary Jane.

Thirteen years and still no birthday card from Dad…

My first attempt at college lasted only one lecture.
Success was— shipping out to boot camp
Missing your own child’s first steps
Walking on unfamiliar soil in the name of “peace”
A world away from all you love
Barely making out an “I miss you” over a bad phone connection
Having a needle inserted into your arm while sitting next to an addict
Selling plasma from my blood for twenty-five dollars a visit
Rushing home in a daze with baby formula for a crying child,

Eighteen years and still no birthday card from Dad…

An almost failing marriage
Getting into a car full of rage
Almost giving in and becoming what you most despise
Seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter for maybe the last time
A lonely stairwell that echoed their cries
Searching for ways to always provide
A paycheck big enough to only tread water
Week equivalent to forty hours of work, eighty hours of school
Breaking the promise of a sweet sixteen to a daughter;
In my world pain is a place.

Here I am baring my very soul
Opening my closet,
Some say my courage has seen me through.
I wasn’t supposed to be sitting here with you;

Thirty three years and still no birthday card from Dad —

Pain is a place…