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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# /
ISBN# issue/book
Reaching for
the Stars

Down in the Dirt, v201 (11/22)



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Running Out
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10 Years, A Stranger

Diya Anantharaman

Over a November afternoon, I reckon:
You must be somewhere up north by now.
Up near the bay with fog hanging over your face,
And your chin pressed onto a violin,
Bowing out a German man’s song,
Twisting up at the howlers, time and again.
I’ve mellowed down a little over the years.
I figured you wouldn’t know
(In an instant era, would you know?)

I tapped a little here and there,
And found a glass reconnection.
I see the waterfront has brought a grin,
And a pain,
And a rogue,
And a rose,
To you.
I closed my eyes and painted
The same icons, colors, and pushpins,
And characters and instincts
Sitting plainly by you and your violin.

That day bore an absence.
That year bore a witness.
The next bore an acquaintance.
The fifth bore something slim and forgettable.
And a stranger was there, fleeting, in the tenth.

Between trains and carts, and piano keys,
This lived alone right behind me.
In an instant era, I couldn’t tap out
And move onto something real.
Maybe someday I’ll be up by the bay
And I’ll hear it all over again,
Whistling and plunking and running,
And I’ll hear your song
Through every rushing passerby.



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