Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020 and 2021,” published by Sweetycat Press. She is the author of 15 poetry books, and 1 short story book. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Christine lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: Eclipse Lit, Carolina Muse, Sparks of Calliope; The Closed Eye Open, North Dakota Quarterly, Tangled Locks Journal, Wild Roof Journal, The American Writers Review, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Pomona Valley Review, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Fourth & Sycamore.
Website: https://annchristinetabaka.com
Linktree: https://linktr.ee/christinetabaka (all her sites listed in one place)
Here are some poems and a micro- story by Ann Christine Tabaka:
Eternal Bond
What else can be so beautiful
as love shared between friends?
Warm summer days stretched out
horizon to horizon.
Remembering
sunshine
rainbow
laughter
Shared secrets & bottles of wine,
as winter painted a snowy landscape
beyond our windowsill.
Embracing across a universe
that knows no time nor space.
Footsteps into an uncertain future,
handholds upon an unforgotten past.
Forevers that lasted forever,
tomorrows that may not come.
Yesterdays that glued us,
in an eternal bond.
* Published by Qutub Minar Review, April 2022
Learning to Climb the Mountain
I read a book once: The Fear of Flying.
It was not about flying at all.
I climbed a mountain,
spread my wings and tried to soar.
The cat thought I was crazy
as I tumbled to the ground.
I was twenty then.
I did not know my power yet.
Life lingered on the cusp,
the old man shed his beard.
Tides ran their rhythms with the moon.
I idled away my life in snips and dreads,
always going the wrong way,
then doubling back.
I was forty then,
still turning pages to discover who I was.
I visited a Greek Garden once.
It was not in Greece.
I rushed home
to plant my seeds among the thorns.
The sparrows were dismayed
that Doric columns did not grow.
I was too old then.
Too many years had crumbled beneath my feet.
* Published by The Squawk Back Magazine, November 2021
He Flies His Cage
I have no idea how birds fly. I cannot see their wings
beat past my own gaze. Nor do I feel the air flow of
soft feathers on the wind. I have no idea how a child
becomes what it is not. He left my womb too long ago.
I cannot see his future / grappling with false faith.
He flew away beyond my reach. I am torn in two / feathers
scattered far & wide. A gale escapes my withered lungs.
Wings clipped / I am grounded. I have not gotten there yet,
to that place between life and death. I tried so many times,
in so many ways. I am not as strong as I used to be. I used
to be strong. Life has a way of snatching our dreams
before we are done playing with them. I do not exist
anymore. I am just a shadow left behind in the wilderness.
* Published by The Pacific Review, June 2022
I Hear the Water
I hear the water.
It calls to me from lakes, and streams, and rivers.
My mother was the ocean.
She carried me on her shoulders above raging storms.
Her strength washed away islands, eroding sin.
Dolphins swam in her dreams and gulls sang of her glory.
I walk on water.
I am her child, the one she bore in sorrow.
Man raped her bounty, polluted her shores,
but still, she did not cry.
I am rain.
I will cry for her.
* Published by Valiant Scribe, May 2022
Stepping Stones
Sally always loved to play outside in the little stream that ran behind her house. You could find her there on most warm sunny days. She particularly loved it right after the rain, when the water was running fast and high. She would splash in the rushing water as she turned over each stone looking for crayfish and other fascinating creatures, especially the creepy-crawly ones. Sally liked to pretend that she was a great explorer, and the stream was a mighty river. She would make a game of carefully stepping from stone to stone, trying not to fall off into the treacherous current that she imagined. As long as she could remember, Sally wondered how all the large rocks got into the stream. There were so many, and they almost seemed to have personalities, as if they were more than just stone. Some had features that Sally found curious. They had expressions on them, as if they had faces. She was fascinated by them and felt as if they were her friends.
One late summer day, Sally decided to go out to play in her stream after dinner. Her parents did not like her being outside alone when it was getting close to dark, so she snuck out without telling them that she was going. She was full of excitement and wonder at the thought of her new adventure. She felt free and all grown up being out in her stream at dusk. She could not wait to wade in and play among her rocks.
She was just getting ready to step on a silvery flat-surfaced stone when suddenly one of the largest rocks vibrated, rolled over and stood up straight and very tall. It became a foreboding creature right before her frightened eyes. Sally screamed and tried to run, but it was too late. The rock monster looked at her with an evil glare, then extended an algae covered hand and grabbed her. Before she knew what was happening, she began to curl up tight and become rigid. Then, within moments, she became just another rock, among so many other rocks in the little stream, forever keeping their secret hidden from the outside world.
* Published by World of Myth Magazine, 2019
* Published in Journeys Anthology / The Writer’s Journey Blog, 2021
Ann Christine Tabaka
Vatsala Radhakeesoon Poetry, Prose, Translated Works 