FIVE: Poems / by Christian Patterson


before you flew to Alaska, you told me
something beautiful about airports,
and I understood what you meant

I’ve realized that there’s trees in Hong Kong
and there’s neon lights in Alaska,
and that everywhere you go has everything

I’m beginning to think the only places
you can feel nostalgia for
are the convenience stores
that are on the threshold of too close and too far,
so you only go there sometimes,
and everydayness becomes a special occasion

you will leave before Christmas
and it will be cold where you’re going
but forever isn’t a long time

I know that you aren’t afraid
of the sad-but-beautiful feeling
so I will never worry about you

have you ever been places, where
on some days it rains, and the rain
doesn’t feel like water? because it’s acid
I’ve felt acid rain, and it doesn’t hurt
it’s sting-y and feels profoundly like something,
rather than feeling like hard air

When I flew home from Seoul,
we flew over your home, but I sat
in a middle seat, so I couldn’t look down

you told me that the world
was beautiful again,
and I believed you again



Christian M Patterson is 23 years old. He's from Auburn WA and lives in Portland OR. When he isn't writing poetry, he is watching wrestling. Find him on Twitter and Tumblr.