he turned to me and said “This is a .... .”
(I miss your hairpins in my box of fishing hooks. Can’t tell whether the trees outline the sky or the sky outlines the trees
The current, when it’s strong, is a heart instead of a circle)
I slapped him.
When we first met there
and the sea of a sky rhymed his name with every cloud, every raindrop, every drip of sun
it’s midnight face echoing his name over again a year ago
I was sure I would never be next to him
because I am a solitary traveler like this:
I hate him.
We will not go any longer like this. We can’t go any further
But now we lie here before dawn under the fading Little Dipper that only we can find
A row of corn We haven’t smashed yet
We settle feel the eyes watching
Eyes of the disappearing heavens and insects we can’t begin to name
We hear a voice weaving through the air
A neighbor’s record player
it is a mournful voice
A contralto trills out a melody and I follow its thread all the way to the harmony at the window and force my voice to tread along
And he looked at her. “This is a ------” he said.
I pushed him away again.
he looks like a compost pile doesn’t he? The musty water floods our nostrils. goose bumps
adorns the apple orchard a path with dirt and twigs and pebbles leads further into the woods
opposite the corn field
he is all I want.
L I don’t W a nt.
Faith Christiansen is a singer/songwriter based in Columbus, Ohio. Catch her work at local farmers markets, coffee shops, and dive bars. Faith is a poet and she enjoys creating short pieces exploring letter placement on the page and intentional use of spacing within her work. Check out her work on IG @christiansenf1 and keep an eye out for her website coming soon.
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