epistle to tommy (november 2010)

Our family makes change
which we run from and then hate,
but cousin,
I know I at least do it compulsively.

Just like you ran,
hid, stole and concealed your stealing
(for drug money,
for freedom)
so do I shy away from responsibility
to anyone but myself
and my shaky clay heart.

I hide my mistakes too—just like you
couldn’t ask my aunt for the thousand dollars,
for a loan,
because you knew it was money you’d spend
on selfishness,
and didn’t want to disappoint—

as a child, I’d never ask my mother for anything.
Not even to define a word,
because I was afraid it was dirty,
to let me watch television,
or to follow me in the street.
In my eyes she was not even kin,
but a safe place I had denied myself
in order to succeed alone.

To succeed alone,
so as to never disappoint
no one.