Poem by Christopher Kain

Illustration by James Conant



when i was with Love
we had a daughter named Hope
she was the only good song
on our jukebox
the gem in our junkpile

Hope would cry in the morning
& in evenings hum herself
to sleep--love & i kept each other
awake with our restlessness

there was something beautiful
when Love held Hope in her arms
as if there wasn't any trouble
i lived on that

after Love & i left each other
i get Hope on certain appointed times
it's hard on her
because she's no longer Love's
& no longer mine