by Chris Wood
If only a detective could find
the time I lost. All those days
spent brooding over what I didn’t have
instead of what I did.
All those times I had to stop,
step out, and sit in each seat
to roll down the windows
of my first car, a clunker
that needed fifty miles an hour
before offering air conditioning.
All those perms
I thought I needed
for curly hair, big hair.
All those bologna sandwiches
instead of ribeyes,
working two jobs
just to make ends meet.
Yet now I cherish
the memory of all those hard years
when I leaned on hope
and the road ahead
still felt wide.
Chris Wood explores the intersections of memory, faith, and the rhythm of everyday life. Her poems appear in Heart of Flesh, Salvation South, and other literary journals and magazines. She is the author of Yesterday Echoes, a poetry chapbook from Finishing Line Press. When not writing, she serves as a Director in Operations Services for a real estate investment trust and enjoys life with her husband and their pack of fur-babies. Learn more at https://chriswoodwriter.com.
January House Literary Journal 
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