{"id":3803,"date":"2015-11-08T10:32:56","date_gmt":"2015-11-08T10:32:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?p=3803"},"modified":"2015-11-08T18:14:55","modified_gmt":"2015-11-08T18:14:55","slug":"something-stolen-chris-campanioni","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/?p=3803","title":{"rendered":"SOMETHING STOLEN &#8212; Chris Campanioni"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Think of the day you learned by looking<br \/>\n&amp; listening: a song &amp; silence<br \/>\nAll at once, stunned,<br \/>\nYou know<br \/>\nWhen the very act<br \/>\nOf presence or pretending<br \/>\nBecomes contractual,<br \/>\nBodies, yourself &amp; everything<br \/>\nbecoming somehow smaller<br \/>\nor magnified,<br \/>\nIn retrospect, imagination, just enough<br \/>\nTo think about it afterward<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nWhen you\u2019d always say<br \/>\nTomorrow, or the next day<br \/>\nI\u2019m leaving; I\u2019m never coming back<br \/>\nTravel fancies at the age of nine<br \/>\nWhen you remember being a child<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nLike this, when you made<br \/>\nUp your mind to watch<br \/>\nThe whistle of the sun<br \/>\nReturning, the way<br \/>\nEach ray sounds<br \/>\nAs it hits your skin<br \/>\nThe beat of a wooden spoon<br \/>\nOn an old steel pot<br \/>\nAnnouncing supper<br \/>\nRopa vieja, maduros<br \/>\nThe mower barking<br \/>\n&amp; the sky<br \/>\nBandaged in clouds<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nYour father\u2019s lips parting<br \/>\nAll that Malta<br \/>\nDribbling down his chin<br \/>\nThe moment he admitted<br \/>\nHe liked the smell of gasoline<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nSo do I<br \/>\nYour brother said<br \/>\nOnly as if to agree<br \/>\nBe a part of the practice<br \/>\nOf what had become a means<br \/>\nOf removal &amp; growth<br \/>\nThe way Dad drove<br \/>\nThe machine into the earth<br \/>\nHow each blade turned as each blade<br \/>\nFell away, everything<br \/>\nAt the turn of his left hand<br \/>\nStill holding the brown-black<br \/>\nBottle with the other<br \/>\nA rag he\u2019d used<br \/>\nTo clean the wheels<br \/>\nTied &amp; knotted<br \/>\nAround his head<br \/>\nIn some second-hand style<br \/>\nOr just a sign<br \/>\nOf the times<br \/>\nSomething stolen<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\nDespite your wishes<br \/>\nHow what it was<br \/>\nYou really wanted<br \/>\nWas to stay<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\n&nbsp;<br \/>\n<img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-3815 alignleft\" src=\"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/NN-headshot-Chris-Campanioni-IMG_7353-1.jpg\" alt=\"NN, headshot, Chris Campanioni, IMG_7353-1\" width=\"186\" height=\"186\" srcset=\"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/NN-headshot-Chris-Campanioni-IMG_7353-1.jpg 792w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/NN-headshot-Chris-Campanioni-IMG_7353-1-150x150.jpg 150w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/NN-headshot-Chris-Campanioni-IMG_7353-1-300x300.jpg 300w, https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/NN-headshot-Chris-Campanioni-IMG_7353-1-720x720.jpg 720w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 186px) 100vw, 186px\" \/>Chris Campanioni is a first-generation Cuban and Polish-American. He has worked as a journalist, model, and actor, and he teaches literature and creative writing at Baruch College and new form journalism at John Jay. He was awarded the Academy of American Poets Prize in 2013 for his collection, <em>In Conversation<\/em>, and his novel, <em>Going Down,<\/em> was selected as Best First Book for the 2014 International Latino Book Awards. He is also the author of <em>Once in a Lifetime,<\/em> a book of poems from Berkeley Press. Find him in space at www.chriscampanioni.com or in person, somewhere between Brooklyn Bridge Park and Barclays Center.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Think of the day you learned by looking &amp; listening: a song &amp; silence All at once, stunned, You know When the very act Of presence or pretending Becomes contractual, Bodies, yourself &amp; everything becoming somehow smaller or magnified, In retrospect, imagination, just enough To think about it afterward &nbsp; When you\u2019d always say Tomorrow, [&#038;hellip<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3827,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[186,187],"class_list":["post-3803","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry","tag-graffiti-mecca","tag-photo-by-pamela-hughes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3803","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3803"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3803\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3818,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3803\/revisions\/3818"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3827"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3803"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3803"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/narrativenortheast.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3803"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}