top of page
  • Writer's pictureAnxious Poets Society

Nostalgia For Things Present by Casey Maryyanek

On the odd, warm, yellow November day, my vision will fade out.

There is music. Yes, there is voice. There is my mother.

She is laughing. She is speaking. She is cooking.

When my vision reemerges, she is bone.

How long until we are skulls? I ask, still seated on my childhood kitchen floor.

How long until we are bones?

How long until this house is bare? How long until this voice is quiet?

She is laughing. My, she is laughing. She will laugh forever, I suppose.

Until I am too old to hear it.

I will be missing this, I realize. I will be bones and bare and missing yellow November.

How long until I am missing this?

Am I missing this?

I am, I decide. I am missing this. It is a warm, yellow November day. My mother is laughing.

I am missing it all. I am already bones.

My vision does not fade back in.


Casey Maryyanek is a current high school student, with plans to study English and Creative Writing at college in the coming years. She currently focuses on themes of teenagedom, childhood, and how the two interact.

14 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

I. Your skin is wet paste sticking to a hospital wristband Under an empty wide gaze that sees nothing. Though I imagine how pretty you must look With your friends at the park, Lying on a picnic table,

blank paper sheets waiting to be filled on the study table, she picked her pen up every ink burst’s her spell word by word, she started weaving kingdom—her utopia. before her eyes, an ethereal scenery

More powerful than a locomotive, able to leap reality in a single bound, it’s a nuclear bomb, it’s a super computer: it’s the age-old strain of virulent addiction. Once in its ravenous and raptor claw

bottom of page