Vows I May Have Read To My Wife
At the very moment the tide razors in we cram our softness into rejuvenation pacts and join hands. Turned to you, I vow to place my body before the blows, to keep you young. I vow to never, recklessly, trust the odds; to keep things even between us. Light and fuzzy sentiments like a butterfly on a stick, dancing to French Pop in the kitchen. I vow to shower you with an assortment of Cheez-its & happy drinks. What I am offering you extends—release the corsage. After tonight, we will continue joining hands. Clasped the way they are. The way they will always be.
When We Go Camping
Marriage and turning thirty cannot keep me from acting weird. It cannot distract me from the clairvoyant osprey aloft the timid breeze over Lake Kachess. And although it pains me, the duality between this poem of feeling and the previous, there is a solace I've found in the splitting of the looking glass. If I relax my eyes underneath perfect violet, this world becomes my world. Which part of me is melting?
I'm Known For My Ability To Perspire
Before wild Pokémon could be found on the wing of a plane, I gave you the window seat. Before Britain disbanded from the European Union, you nuzzled my shoulder. Upon takeoff, my chest fluttered, pandering to the fear of being tossed against a thrilling mutation of our priority flight honeymoon experience. Who knows what pieces they would ‘ve found in the wreckage? The precious metals fused to ivory. How did their bodies get carried all this way? I drank with a more temperate grin than I anticipated, but I still drank.
La Fourmi
When we finally found the pink building we’d searched all Montmartre for, my wife was disappointed as it was more washed out than in the picture she had seen. The one she had fallen in love with. She took her own Polaroid picture and in the Polaroid picture it was a white building. She took a digital photograph of the Polaroid picture and shared it on Instagram. By then it was already behind us. Despite all of her excitement she was on the wrong edge of time.
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C.C. Hannett is the alter ego of Kris Hall; a poet who writes and lives with his wife and their animals in the PNW. Author of chapbooks published by Horse Less Press and Shotgun Wedding, an imprint of Alice Blue Books. He is the former curator of the reading series Da'daedal and Ogopogo, events focused on showcasing interdisciplinary work. He has been featured or is set to appear in Gramma, (b)OINK, DUM DUM Zine, PageBoy, Reality Beach, SHARKPACK Annual, Vanilla Sex Magazine, DREGINALD and Fog Machine, among others.