You Came and You Gave Without Taking

I can no longer remember the name of the first poems I got published or the name of the magazine that published them. I remember sending them out, individually typed on onion skin paper with polite cover notes and self-addressed stamped envelopes. I remember my two tone Smith Corona with the ribbon cartridges. I remember seeing my poems in the magazine and not feeling all that much. Angels didn’t sing. My parents didn’t suddenly understand me. Young men didn’t flock to me, leave love notes, swing from trees. I think I knew then that getting published was really good, was the goal, but it wasn’t the end. It was a hole on a putting green. A little plastic flag.

How was your first time?