People Are Place

1 Minute Read Time

This photograph shows a green country terrain with a house, seemingly in the middle of forest and green plains. — Photo by Evan Chen on Unsplash

When my transplanted
kidney begins to ache, 
throbbing needles deep through my love 
handle, I’m sitting at Tim Hortons

four thirty in the morning thinking 
about my life back in Wastefield 
where no one is anyone and 
everyone is someone

trying to get out. My body 
is tied to the land where 
the organ entered, but
I ignore that

creek bed covered in moss 
and shale marked with prints
my feet left upon their faces. Stinking 
from its waters, I stood contaminated

as I am in this bathroom. Who am I 
kidding? I can’t live without my county 
a counterweight. Unable to move
I sit in this stall and bleed 

I am never meant to leave.

Z. J. See

is a poet and creative-nonfiction writer living in Westfield, New York. He received his BA in English from the State University of New York at Fredonia. He is currently working on poems and a memoir that examines what it means to be disabled in America.

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