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See You Anon

written by: Christina Strigas



Writing a novel is such a task
words found somewhere on the bottom of a tin flask
one last drop to tie me over
give me luck with a fake four leaf clover.
The dead trees still live
on the icy snow
we pass the farms, the homes
trying to let the feelings go
but they knock
they hum
like the sounds of this train or a long lost battle drum
on a bumpy ride or a field of dead
drink coffee and hide
behind Gatsby’s bed
or samples of another book
about people I never knew
or ones that I want to meet
so I write
on this train
on my feet
on a chair
in my head
up the musical stairs
as long as I paid the fare.
Did you miss my words?
all these crying kids
buy sour cream and onion chips
and then the mirror on the taxi reminds
me of him
fills my head up with deceitful lights
take words and turn them into
the vast forest
spanning across our two provinces
flowing in and out of them as robbers do
trickery, lies and subterfuge
filled with sweet apple pies.
Show my boarding pass
I have 87% of Fitzgerald
can’t stop reading about Daisy
Tom and Jay
leave nothing behind
night has turned into day
your name on my lips
and hands tightly squeeze my hips
for the trees are whispering again
and I know
people like us
can only hear them
even from behind the glass.
I write the title first
it’s from the book
another route
and cable lines
keep us joined
stronger than poetry.
Grab my bags
I’m coming home
and I missed you too.

Christina Strigas

Christina Strigas

I write because I have no other choice. I write because I have stories to tell and poems like film slides in my mind.
Christina Strigas

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