Dad

by Amanda Jones

The last time I got my teeth cleaned,
The assistant asked if I wanted any
Numbing cream on my gums
And I refused because I wanted
To see how much of the pain
I could handle before the tears came.

And when I broke my thumb,
I let it bruise and blue until
It went numb with neglect
To see how awful it could get,
Or if it would heal itself without
An expensive trip to the doctor.

He says I can tough it all out
Because I am from him,
And a visible bone wouldn’t
Attract sobs to the eyes he
Had given me by accident.

They are green, with a little
Blue ring around the iris.
My blood is a deep scarlet,
And my scars are a light peach
Raised from my italian olive tone,
A gift from my mother.

He begs me to take care
Of the skin he had a hand
In forming, to call before
I torch it with the smoldering
Marlboro from the gas station
Just around the corner.

And in a way, I feel obligated to,
After all, I am a product of him.
But if that is the truth then why
Can’t I be that strong, that capable
Of pushing through even the
Darkest of days and coldest of nights?

You’ve got my blood coursing through your veins.
When it flows from my cuts,
My gums and my bitten fingernails,
Does it hurt him too?