A Study of the Infinite

Today you do not feel thirty but barely

twenty parked along the Blue Ridges,

when you wore the night around your hips,

your mouth a passage he rewrote over

and over. All that mattered was the restless

tangle, the threat of blue lights, sirens

you watched for over his shoulder.

Today you feel like you did at twelve

when you cooled your feet in the creek,

could swear you heard folktales in the wind,

& beyond lightening bugs lanterned the barn,

You wondered then what it was to pass away.

You feel that today is the day of your birth,

yet also the afternoon when your memory

began to record, the old Super 8

of your mind switched suddenly on.

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Christie Collins is a full-time instructor at Louisiana State University and is working to complete a Ph.D in Creative Writing. Her poems have recently appeared in Reunion: The Dallas Review, Wicked Alice, Still: The Journal, Cold Mountain Review, Canyon Voices, and So To Speak. Her chapbook titled Along the Diminishing Stretch of Memory was published by Dancing Girl Press in 2014.

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