Sunday 5 May 2024

1 Poem by C. T. Holte


It is often called “loss”
but it is not lost.
It remains, eternal,
in a far corner
of the mind, the heart,
from whence it will emerge
unsolicited, unannounced,
from time to time
as a reminder
that love does not require
a physical embrace.


C. T. Holte grew up in Minnesota without color TV; has had gigs as teacher, editor, and less wordy things; recently moved from California to New Mexico with his beautiful partner; and got a cool chain saw for Christmas. His poems have been published in Words, California Quarterly, Shark Reef, Pensive, The Daily Drunk, Mediterranean Poetry, and elsewhere. [~60]

No comments:

Post a Comment