Bio Note: My name is Christopher Cadra. I'm a self-taught poet without much in the way of actual education. I exist in a working-class world, where education in the arts is rare, and so I try to keep my poetry clear (for the most part, in any case) or at least appreciable by those around me. In many ways, I consider my poetry a conversation I have with my surroundings.
Yawns, stars, etc.
The sun faded, and we weren’t halfway there. We stopped at a diner. People don’t change. “Love causes hate or can. Don’t believe me, I’d say you’ve never experienced love.” The man was old and fat, who’d believe him? It was past midnight when we paid and left. Outside: stars glowed, milk-white, bright. We hugged them.
1. The fire was almost out, the Bluetooth speaker was dead, sparse conversation lasted until dawn. 2. The déjà vu was over so quickly, and he was so high. He didn’t know what’d just happened. 3. It was past midnight. I’d grown a migraine. The light was killing me. She lent me her sweater, and I threw it over my head. 4. The clouds threatened a storm. She said she wanted one, but I couldn’t tell if she meant it. 5. I tried to make my poem clear, easy to read, accessible. It ended up all about her.
©2021 Christopher Cadra
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