I was a boy with two fathers, each absent in different ways. I was Hercules with the impossible task of shoveling the driveway, three hours a storm. I was Cthulhu aiming to prove madness was following rules and September was the cruelest month, the horrors of school. I was Paul Bunyan slinging lumber on the sandlots, answering only to my last name, moniker of fleeting fame. I was Green Lantern able to use my imagination to form any object, practicing the willpower I’d need to escape the prison of my room. I was the child king with a shirt sling, aiming my socks to fell giants, placing me square in God’s graces. I was samurai and jinn in college, whipping up drinks and slicing through bodies in my bed, the fog of being so many men. I was a damn fool for spinning the wheel of heroes from books and films, blinking through the holes where my fathers fell, unable to understand how others’ lips framed this picture of myself.
Martin Ott’s most recent book is Spectrum (C&R Press, 2016). He is the author of seven books and won the De Novo and Sandeen prizes for his first two poetry collections. His work has appeared in more than two hundred magazines and a dozen anthologies.