Katherine Fallons Comments
In 2009, I went to a Philadelphia hypnotist to try to quit smoking. I’d done it before with some success, but then a breakup happened and I was back at square one. The first therapist had me visualizing landscapes and left me wanting smoothies. This second therapist had me walking into an unknown forest and imagining what I might say to my younger self. Anything at all, to make her less likely to smoke. I sobbed my way through the session and chain smoked a pack as soon as I was out.
That question—what would you tell Little Katie—broke me in some new way. I have thought about it for years and then decided to try my hand at answering it poetically. They run from advice poems to warning poems to “for-what-it’s-worth” poems. They are love poems and queer poems and nature poems, but they are not poems about smoking. It turns out I have plenty to say to my childhood self, knowing full well even if someone had said these things to her, she wouldn’t have listened anyway.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 57 | Spring/Summer 2021