by Gabi Pawelec
(In memory of Brad Will and Marcella “Sali” Grace Eiler)
Part I: Childhood
Ate mustard and radish sandwiches.
When tall enough to reach the stove
Cooked my own meals
Hamburger Helper or
Pasta with butter and oil
Bought on food stamps
From the Deli we lived on top of
In an Italian-American
White trash neighborhood
Where we were the outsiders
For being immigrants from Poland.
House cluttered with knick-knacks
Found off the streets.
Created a maze
An obstacle course
On the way to my bedroom.
Mom was never home
Always working her waitress job.
Dad was always somewhere
In his own world.
Loneliness made me pull at my hair
Classmates were the first to notice.
Bit my nails and cuticles until they bled.
Winter made my hands sting with regret.
Fell in love with books.
Loved touching the spines
Graced the edges of the pages
Softly to avoid paper cuts.
Books clutched tight to my chest
Walked through so-called shady neighborhoods
To get to the library
To touch those books
And bring them close to my body.
Wrote a book at the age of nine.
Never told anyone.
With no one to wake me up
Stopped going to school most days of the week.
Spent my waking hours
In my pajamas
Moving from the bed to the couch.
Part II: Adulthood
Left home shortly after High School.
Walls in my house were full
Of such sadness
I was afraid they were going
To cave in and swallow
Me whole.
I wandered.
Slept on the train
Going all the way
To the end of the line
And back.
Woken up by men and women
With suits and briefcases
On their way to work.
Park benches
In the middle of rainstorms.
Couches with bed bugs.
Found people
Who also left home.
They taught me
How to
Sneak into abandoned buildings
Hop turn-styles
Fix a broken bike found on the street
Dig through the trash for the good stuff.
Use quick schemes to make cash
Like selling panties online
Stealing and reselling things on Ebay.
I learned how to save my life.
Part III: Love
Met a girl named Hazard
Hair soft as brillo pads.
On sticky summer nights
We outstretched our arms
Trying to reach the lampposts.
Rolled around
On wet grass
Underneath the stars
Waiting for the sun to come up.
She counted
My fingers and toes
Went from A to Z.
Delirious and giddy
We created bows
In each others mouths
With our tongues.
Part IV: Death
Decided to hop trains to Oaxaca.
Teachers were protesting
for better school conditions
and raises.
Elderly women stood between
Protesters and police
Screaming.
Night-sticks hit everyone
Heads bleeding
People falling down.
Was arrested for having a camera.
After three nights in a cell
Without food or water
Was raped by a prison guard.
Fist on my throat
Choked to death
on my own blood.
GABI PAWELEC is a native New Yorker currently living in Brooklyn. She is a CUNY student of Creative Writing and Queer Studies. She also enjoys baking cupcakes and riding her bicycle in skirts all over NYC.
