by Christopher Brooks

For Tansy

Dirt section road. Pallid beams
capitulating the night. Milk of moon
dancing on the hood.

She said she realized the consequences
of solitude while passing Lady Liberty
on the Staten Island Ferry. How she
needed it too.

How poetry came to her for the first
time that night.

How New York showed her that she
was just like me.


Christopher Brooks lives in Shawnee, Oklahoma, with his wife and daughter. His educational background is in anthropology and archaeology, specializing in the prehistory of the southwestern United States. He is a Navy veteran and works in civil service, where he served in Afghanistan. Brooks was a 2017 Woody Guthrie Poet and has published a chapbook titled With Them I Move from Finishing Line Press. His poetry also appears in Flint Hills Review, Red Earth Review, Dragon Poet Review, Blue Collar Review, The Furious Gazelle and SLANT: A Journal of Poetry.

Waiting on biscuits
Blue Crabs