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Spotlight: Chris Dean

Hi All


It's a fantastic day to share with you - on the Jimmy Broccoli page (and later on the website, jimmybroccoli.com) - the work of an individual I find highly talented. It is with great pleasure to share with you the poetry of Chris Dean.


I was first introduced to Chris' poems a few months ago and have followed Chris' work since - they is an outstanding poet and storyteller - and among the best writer's (in my humble opinion) writing today.


Here is Chris in their own words:


Chris began writing poetry in 2018 to try and make sense of life's ups and downs. They began sharing their work in 2022 as a way to foster connections between other "broken" people and to contribute to the community they discovered through in-person events. Their debut book of poetry, "Tales From a Broken Girl," was released in September of 2023 from Storeylines Press.


Here are two poems by Chris Dean - and, I'm absolutely certain you'll enjoy them as much as I do!

______________

seasonal help


Migratory workers

drifting from one gas station

to the next, each stop

a revolving Hall of Lost Souls.

Like Restaurant Folks,

no one's originally from here.


Texas, Kentucky and Michigan;

stops along the way

for these modern day Nomads.

Running from something,

running towards everything.

Running until gas or cash give out,

staying just long enough

to replenish or repair.


Tattooed and pierced,

open smiles and closed faces

surviving on nicotine and sugar,

energy drinks and roller grill food.

They move like the tides,

each one ruled by a Season.


Here, the Summer People

have disappeared with the heat,

packed up their backpacks

and cash apps,

washed out to make way

for those who will flow in

with September and stay

until the snow.

____

lunch money


I left the money on the counter for your lunch

because today will be a long one.

The days are always long without you,

when you're just a voice through the phone

or a message on the screen.

They drag into years and centuries

with time ticking by,

wasted in the pursuit of the impossible dream

of keeping our heads above water.

Always some new storm, monsoon or flood

and we work for each sandbag,

building a fortification for the few hours

we have together at night.

Sometimes I wonder

if we wouldn't be happier

if we just let the waters come,

wash away everything we know

and you and I could simply float

downstream, together.


Photo: Chris Dean.



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