Resist Against Resistance


Stand up
Sit down
Take a knee
Turn your back
Protests are nothing new

Silent faces
Mouths taped
Eyes shut
Arms crossed
Disbelief fosters opposition

Signs scream
Words red
Exclamation marks
Held high
Marching across the land

Roads closed
Bodies prone
Bodies supine
Block traffic
Solidarity harbors truth

Your Warmth

Twenty six years together,
eight of them good,
none really bad.

So what if we sleep
in separate rooms?

Many of my friends
tell me they have
the same arrangement.

It’s not as if I should miss you
next to me after all these years –
but I do.

I know all the excuses.
We both snore,
I have a bad back,
the list goes on.

But still –
the warmth of you next to me
is what I miss the most.

The Taste of Sweetness

It was delicious from the start.

There was not any part 

that did not satisfy.

A love sustained within a smile.

But time turns love to dust.

Memories within a snow globe

only remain while in motion.

Flavors fade with age.

Smiles seep into tears.

The taste of sweetness  

on my tongue

has now turned bitter.

Finding Love

She knew there was an answer,
as she walked out the door,
but she did not know where to find it.
It was not hiding under the mat
that mocked her with its blaring WELCOME!
Where would she go,
where could she look?
The truth lie buried deep.
He never really loved her,
but someone surely did, they must!
She could not be that unlovable
as she felt at this very moment.
Time was losing ground,
as she was aging fast.
Would there be another chance for her,
or was this to be her last?
Closing the door softly,
she locked it, and shut her eyes.
Heaving a heavy sigh,
she threw the key as hard and far as she could,
not looking where it fell.
A feeling of relief came over her,
finally free from all her former sins.
She knew she found the love of her life …
herself.

Maybe

And what did I send you,

on the day you left?

Was that my letter you held in your hand?

Was it my words that you were reading?

I did not have anything else to tell you.

I did not have anything else to say, 

as you stepped out the door,

leaving yesterday behind.

You thanked me for the gift,

then walked away,

never looking back to see the tears.

Maybe I did not try hard enough.

Maybe it was my fault.

Maybe is such an encompassing word. 

Maybe life caught me off guard. 

But, maybe you could have tried a little harder too.

Just maybe.

Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, Her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020,” published by Sweetycat Press. Chris has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. Her work has been translated into Sequoyah-Cherokee Syllabics, and into Spanish. She is the author of 11 poetry books. She has recently been published in several micro-fiction anthologies and short story publications. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: The American Writers Review; The Phoenix; Burningword Literary Journal; Muddy River Poetry Review; The Write Connection; Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Foliate Oak Review, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.

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