A Poem for Papa (教皇的一首诗)

 
 

Four years ago
you left for work.
It was a humid early summer day
in the spring New York City swelter.

Leaning nonchalantly in the doorway,
you said, “Later,”
like nothing doing,
and turned for the stairs.

No kiss goodbye, not even a glance
in my direction.
I leaned out after you, and called down the
creaking stairwell
to tell you
not to bother returning.

You did not.

This was smart, for me.
Maybe the wisest words ever
hastily spoken.

Since you had no problem with
helping me spend me my money or
using my body in bed,
losing you was a gift,
in retrospect.

Three years ago
I gave birth to your son.
Alone, in the dead cement of NYC winter,
I welcomed a new human being into this
world.
Only two Franciscan nuns sat in the
otherwise empty hospital room
as i suckled at my breast
the child you have not even
sent one birthday gift to.

No flowers from Daddy arrived,
not even a card or cheap chocolates…
only a pathetic
and rude text message, something
about a paternity test.
Called me “Baby Momma”,
even.

I remember the sound the phone made as it
hit the cold tile floor.
Its screen shattered.
The baby began to cry.
So did I.

Your son met you, once
and was in my arms when
you, once again and years later,
brought me to tears.
He talks about it
to this day.

“Daddy mean at Mommy. Mama cried.
Daddy mean.
Are you happy,mama?
Be happy, Mama!”

They remember everything, the
little ones. Like
elephants in miniature,
they never forget. For you, my
ex-lover, this
is a lifelong liability.

Your son speaks of you
rarely now,
except to mention in passing
that your favorite color is yellow.

Two words: good bye —
from me to you,
were the wisest words
i have ever spoken.
I will say them now and
i will say them again.

Like a leaf, fallen haplessly
from the massive oak
over our little home,
your memory
lies, dried out and faded
in the driveway of my mind.

 

 

And I would do it all again.

Janice J. Cunningham 7.04.12. Cleveland, Ohio

Tweet

Follow @JJGrape