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 and 2021,” published by Sweetycat Press. She is the author of 14 poetry books.
Photography by P. M. Chatelain
Losing Myself Among the Ruins
I try to find myself in daylight. Sacred bones buried in the backyard
sing of a life I never had. Story books & rocking horses play among
the ruins. Gardens fade with Autumn. Generation upon generation
evaporate as whisps of smoke from dying ashes. I wanted so much
more from life. My body could not endure. I hid within my art,
always painting the surface of pain onto empty canvas. You were
my salvation / my joy. Now a white dandelion tuft floating high on
swirling currents. The forest calls my name, calls me back to you,
lost in the dark shadows of brave trees. I watch you take flight.
Deep beneath a burden of sorrow, I bury my love with the bones.
Too Late
before
the day opened its eyes
before
I lifted my head
I missed your warmth
no longer lying next to me
remembering
soft caresses
of a time
long past
your impression
still rests upon
the place where you once slept
your scent lingers
upon the pillow
it was hot outside
the lake called my name
inviting me in
anonymous eyes watched
from the shore
sun burned my face
floating like Ophelia
I drifted into a daze
and found you
standing there
too late
Pieces of Our Lives
Putting together pieces of our lives,
we walk backwards in time, never
running, in fear we might trip over
the edge. Forgetting pain, remembering
joy. Illusions of what used to be, clouding
what is. We see ourselves in a different
world than the one that is before us.
Somedays and somehows fill our mind.
We play with colors, arranging them in
careful shapes: perfect circles and squares.
Dissecting images, puzzle pieces fall in
place. Whether we accept the truth, or
hide behind the lies, although we try,
we cannot deny who we are.
The Child
when
he
cried
I
ran
away
shutting
out
all
sound
far
and
near
I
could
not
bear
the
silent
pain
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By In Parentheses in IP Volume 7
32 pages, published 1/15/2022
in parentheses 
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