Candy Cigarettes

One
I learned to smoke from
candy cigarettes, how to play

baseball from Big League Chew
and Fun Dip. I practiced getting

married with Ring Pops and bartending 
with Vernors. I grew up next door to 

the Manistee National Forest and
down the road from a gas station

that kept a black bear in a cage for
customers. So you could stay longer,

they served Blue Moon ice cream from
a walk-up window. It was called
 
“Thirsty’s” and it’s still open, selling 
gas and liquor. Lotto tickets.


Two
Lately, my children get twenty dollars
and sugar cookies every few months for

donating their blood to science because
a company dumped waterproofing chemicals

nearby; they test and retest our well,
our blood for the toxic plume of PFAS.

Each month we receive eight plastic barrels
of water, light blue and gurgling.

I thought I chose an idyllic
home for my sweet children,
 
on a small river, with a large
yard and plenty of wild animals,

native plants, owls and herons 
nesting nearby, and snapping turtles.




Three
Now, the language is all
that’s beautiful. The hand gestures

the EPA workers use on
local news are a dance; legalese

is multisyllabic and filled
with liquid consonants, high-frequency

vowel sounds. Like decay, it dresses up
in sugar and sparkles.

Four
Samantha, the bear, died and they
finally removed her chain-link cage.

Later, the state cut bear hunting licenses.
Since then, the black bear population

has grown by 88%, which sounds good.
There are signs for seven miles on that

stretch of road that borders the national
forest, warning drivers of bear crossings,

but semis still collide with one every now
and then. It doesn’t even make a headline.

Katie Kalisz is a Professor in the English Department at Grand Rapids Community College, where she teaches composition and creative writing. Quiet Woman, her first book, was a finalist for the 2018 Main Street Rag Poetry Book Award. Her second book, Flu Season, is forthcoming from Cornerstone Press. She is the recipient of a 2023 Elizabeth George Foundation Grant, and her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She lives in Michigan with her husband and their three children.

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