In class, we don’t talk about class issues

We talk about other things, but not class
in class.  I think in class we don’t talk
about class because the university has
weeded out the poor through tuition
and the cost of rent in the area.  You
can have a large commute and try to
come here, but then you can’t afford
the tuition.  Or you can afford tuition,
but not afford the rent.  Or you can
neither afford tuition nor rent, in
which case they have fully kept you
out.  We’re not rich, but we’re not
Poor either.  Poor where it hurts,
poor where eating requires a ground
offensive, poor where the bodies of
martyrs are how you sleep, poor
where you abandon any prospects
of not fearing abandonment, poor
where you have never heard of
Billy Collins, poor where there

were shadows for you in prison
(only constant neon-sun like some
sort of white torture, no, not some
sort, but actually actual white
torture).  No, we’re not that level
of poor, although we can think we
are, maybe even complain that we
are, but we are not, because we are
here and who is not here in class is
the poor who could speak about

the poor, but that perspective is
never spoken for, just silence,
and when I see six empty chairs
in the class I imagine that each
one is filled with the poor, that

they are here, but only as ghosts,
on fire with silence, and I say
this and my cousin says, I think
the same with books.  In lit class,
when we have to read the ‘great
writing’ I always imagine all
of the empty white areas of
the page as the voices of

the poor, how they are
there, trying to speak
to us, but we are

forced to read
the mouths of

the rich
 

SUPPORT

DIVERSE VOICES
IN LITERATURE