A Magazine About Food, Art & Exchange In Midtown Kingston, Published By The Hudson Valley Current.

POETRY & VERSE

Growing

by James Henry

DAY 1:

First I want to thank you for giving me your two-week notice. It gave my heart just enough time, almost, to slowly break and begin to repair itself again. 

Today I’m heart broken, so it’s not repaired yet—it’s too new. The thoughts of you are too fresh; your presence is still here; the scents of you being around still linger. I’m finding myself distracted, but excited. I’m sad, but brimming with the joy of next steps to come.

I can’t believe you said you’re going quiet for a while. I wasn’t sure what you’d say yesterday. But that makes sense. I understand. I thought maybe you’d want to text every day, still go hiking, cook together. But no. Not right now. 

DAY 2: 

I woke up thinking about you, of course. I’ve been thinking about you every morning as I wake up and every night as I’m going to sleep for the last four months. Like a song that’s stuck in your head at night, and it’s still there in the morning. It makes you wonder if it was there all night, gently playing for hours while we sleep. And the answer is yes when it comes to you—I think about you all night, like that song I told you has been stuck in my head.

“What the hell did I do?”

As I open my eyes I think about how you are; did you sleep well; are you already dressed and ready for the day? You probably went hiking already and watched the sunrise. 

Everything about you is magical, and I miss you terribly today. 

As I drove into work, nice and early thanks to you, I see you in shadows and scents. There’s where we crossed 587 on our Grand Kingston Loop daily walk—but that time you didn’t want to enter the dark tunnel (like a frightened horse gently scraping your shoe on the gravel). You sprinted up the hill and over the highway. You’re on the Greenline, you’re on Broadway, you’re at your desk, or in the kitchen, nowhere to be found.

Thank you for the Human Design chart. It’s fascinating. I love it. I’m halfway through what you wrote. I still love you. 

DAY 13: 

I’m starting to move on, even though it was so nice to text you yesterday. It was about monies owed, but it was still nice. It’s funny how now I think about you all day, but it’s less conscious. Or maybe it’s not that, more like, I think about you from time to time.

The Native American woman who I saw laying across the Ashokan High Point range yesterday has your hair. I saw you laying on the pavement of the Reservoir bridge, looking up at the stars with me, even though it was daylight and I was walking alone. And the seaweed seems to be everywhere, just gently swaying—like that video I sent you yesterday after the financial chit chat we had, of the little creek on the property, the beautiful property.

Little Girl

by Cyrena

The passing of time is so strange. It is always right now, until suddenly it’s been years.

I am the same little girl I’ve always been so why am I no longer a child? The idea of being on my own is so gigantic and terrifying. I can’t be left with all this responsibility. I’m just a little girl. Like I’ve always been. I only want to play and feel light and sing and dance. Like I always have.

But my college applications and my job and my sadness does not feel like the lightness, or the play, or the singing, or dancing. Maybe I’m no longer is a little girl I’ve always been. 

When I smoke until I fall asleep I do not feel like the same little girl. But as I grow she can live inside my heart. Fully protected by my rib cage and my power and my love.

She is a little girl I’ve always been and always will be.