By Christian Garduno
A true dancer never stops moving
and if sight is so important
then why is it that
we close our eyes when we kiss?
always chasing that embryonic fluid
it’s hard-wired
last night comes back in flashes
I saw you once in the market before we met
you had your green sweater on with the stripe
It was a Saturday and I was buying a six-pack
it was early spring, before the swelter
I had my ear-buds in listening to Gimme Shelter
I had just gotten back from New Orleans
and this town seemed a little smaller
you paid in change and said
how much is your cheapest pack of cigarettes?
I was thinking about being in The Quarter
I saw you once in the market before we met
you had your green sweater on with the stripe
Christian Garduno’s work can be read in over 100 literary magazines. He is the recipient of the 2019 national Willie Morris Award for Southern Poetry, a Finalist in the 2020-2021 Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Writing Contest, and a Finalist in the 2021 Julia Darling Memorial Poetry Prize. He lives and writes along the South Texas coast with his wonderful wife Nahemie and young son Dylan.
Hot Pot Magazine 