the last time
he called when i was on a date.
it was my second date in a row;
second day he’d reached out to me.
i told him i was hanging with friends
but that i loved him.
cool have fun babe
i dropped the phone on the couch next to me,
told myself i’d call him tomorrow.
tomorrow never came for him.
monkeys in the basement
i had a dream back in february, right around the time my dad had his surgery, that jessie and i were helping my parents move into a new house. jessie and i were carrying this large, shiny wooden box down to the new basement. it was awkward and heavy but somehow we made it. the basement was small. a staircase with no railing led up to the door in the corner of the room. we placed the box in the middle of the basement and decided to open it. inside was a few monkeys; they jumped out the minute the lid was up. we screamed and ran out of the basement, shutting the door closed and trapping in all the monkeys.
i didn’t think about it again.
i had a dream that night, as my dad told my mom to get some sleep, they would have a busy day tomorrow, he loved her and good night, i dreamt that my family was back in the house we helped fill all those months ago. boxes littered the entire first floor. we were cramped into a small amount of space and attitudes were starting to go south. that’s when jessie and i decided to tell them why all their junk wasn’t in the basement: there were monkeys hiding there. as we’d told the story of my previous dream in this new dream, i thought about that box jessie and i carried down to the basement. little details i’d forgotten resurfaced again and i couldn’t help but realize the large wooden box looked an awfully lot like a coffin.
everything he gave me
the time i was born —
heavily debated for years,
but his time is the numbers i believe.
the way i hold my pencil
my blond hair and messy bedhead
my temper
(when it happens to appear,
not as often)
my blue eyes
some wild rides
even maybe the sound of my voice
a beautiful family
lots of random tales
laughter
sadness
anger
fear
a support system
my very first cheerleader
a protector
a cook
a vision of what love should be,
and sometimes what it shouldn’t
little bits of him in me
a little sister to be with me
our love of music
and rides to concerts
(mixed with the story of him
sneaking into one of our sold-out shows)
so many more
in my 27 years.
weird to think
he can’t give me anymore.
the good morning text
she usually texts me back by now.
the thought hid in the back of my mind
like a memory that was starting to fade.
it made its appearance,
but i had brushed it off.
she ended up calling
and i knew something was wrong.
we texted every morning,
and i would facetime her sometimes,
but she was calling.
i knew before she sighed,
her voice cracking with tears.
can’t explain how,
but i just knew.
because
that one good morning text,
one of thousands sent throughout nine years,
that one good morning text
went unanswered.
michigan to illinois: the beginning
interstate blurs by
the sky is a bright, cloudless blue
traffic moderate
my spotify is playing my ‘liked songs’
everything is background noise.
sometimes the phone rings,
other times i can’t help but cry.
i stop for gas
eastern turns to central
i gain an hour to this day i will forever hate.
all i think is
i need to get home. i need to get home.
i chant it like a mantra,
until it’s the only thing keeping me moving.
tornado warning
the news was like an unexpected tornado crashing through the streets
everyone just had to watch as the tornado ran its course,
the tornado grew bigger and bigger through phone lines and text messages,
clutching on with its winds.
the tornado became so big,
upending everyone from their regular sundays
tearing apart their futures
and, in the end,
the tornado kept spinning,
looking for anyone it missed,
while we were left with our destroyed homes
and no idea how to move forward.
all we could do was try and figure out how to pick up the pieces.
Alien Buddha Press 
I absolutely love this book! I got a sneak peek and wrote the blurb for it, and I have to say it is deeply touching. Krista Sanford’s poems are well written, relatable, and convey emotion beautifully! I’m actually expecting my copy to be delivered sometime today and can’t wait to receive it!
Congratulations to You Krista, on a job well done!
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