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Sometimes I miss

those buttery afternoons,

a mystery on TV

and something sweet

crisping in the oven.

There was time

for reading at the cafe

and long walks.

When you came home from work,

we binged on burgers, fries,

and wine bought by the box.

We slept in,

made cinnamon buns,

watched too many movies.

The days seemed too common then,

but sometimes Nebraska

calls back to me

on a crowded subway

or when the fire trucks

keep circling our apartment building.

I think of how fat I grew

on its open spaces,

its creamy easiness.

 

 

 

Isaiah Vianese‘s poems and book reviews have appeared in AssaracusBlue Collar Review, The Fourth RiverLambda Literary, Moon City Review, nin, and Rattle. He’s also author of the chapbook Stopping on the Old Highway (Recycled Karma Press, 2009) and a book for children. He lives in New York City. For more information, please check out his blog at: ivianesefromyes.blogspot.com.

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