Stephen Furlong
Stephen Furlong received his M.A in English from Southeast Missouri State University. His poetry, book reviews, and interviews have appeared in Yes, Poetry, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and Pine Hills Review, among others. He currently works at FIVE:2:ONE as a staff reviewer and can be found @StephenJFurlong on Twitter.
"Nostalgia"
When I was a child, I remember the chase
of fireflies. I would run until my face glowed
red, like August on the Mississippi—my clearest
memory. Celebrating history,
the anniversary of a house that stood one
hundred years. Was it a home for that long?
I asked myself then—and now—separated by years,
distance. But isn’t that why I write? To remember.
Like trees in the fall, I want to trust myself—let go
completely. I want to believe I might come back new.
I’ve been to towns where they remember
birthdays favorite colors the shape of hands my mother’s maiden name
And cities where I went to forget
my relationship with God anger You night terrors
forgetting is so long--
I concern myself with taking
too much time (knowing recovery has no deadlines,
just endless questions, especially around the holidays.)
too much paper (fearing voices telling me to just get over it
like it was that simple, like anyone could do it.)
originally published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry
When I was a child, I remember the chase
of fireflies. I would run until my face glowed
red, like August on the Mississippi—my clearest
memory. Celebrating history,
the anniversary of a house that stood one
hundred years. Was it a home for that long?
I asked myself then—and now—separated by years,
distance. But isn’t that why I write? To remember.
Like trees in the fall, I want to trust myself—let go
completely. I want to believe I might come back new.
I’ve been to towns where they remember
birthdays favorite colors the shape of hands my mother’s maiden name
And cities where I went to forget
my relationship with God anger You night terrors
forgetting is so long--
I concern myself with taking
too much time (knowing recovery has no deadlines,
just endless questions, especially around the holidays.)
too much paper (fearing voices telling me to just get over it
like it was that simple, like anyone could do it.)
originally published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry