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Poems by Christine L. Reed

"Guernica" | The Falling Game |
The Kingdom of You | The Way You Went

Christine L. Reed lives in Tranquility, NJ where she edits and publishes Maelstrom, a hard copy literary magazine while self-employing herself in the home cleaning business. She is also the poetry editor for Moondance a web magazine celebrating the creativity of women. She has had her poetry featured in travelling art exhibits and published internationally in many small magazines, anthologies and web venues. Some recent publications include Conspire, Niederngasse, Zuzu's Petals Quarterly, Recursive Angel, Kimera and a run as poet of the week on Poetry Superhighway.

"Guernica"

It took her tongue, sharp

and quick and landed it

on the thigh of the girl

in a far corner of the kitchen,

two floors down.

She had smashed garlic and

poured oil, screaming stern

mama, scolding

with the eyes in the back

of her thick black hair

at nutmeg niños, tussling

in the top

of an ordinary afternoon.

They began to hear

the planes as she drained

the heavy pot of red beans,

they fell to the floor in time

with the rain of bombs,

rolling like marbles

with the thick sound of drums.

One mess

she would never have to clean.

A young mother

nursing and dreaming

her tiny joy into

a fine strong man, now shrieked

and clawed at the clamped

mouth on her breast, didn't know

both of their legs were gone.

The pilots picked up

coffee cups, congratulated

each other with clean hands,

thought of empty buildings

crisply destroyed and faceless

men, dirty and old....disintegrated

without a trace

while Picasso

began to paint the screams.

The Falling Game

Spun dizzy we stained

our dungarees. Green-kneed

we watched the clouds swirl

until there was nothing but sky.

The smell of dirt and fresh

air soaked into our skins,

like the rain in the street

when, barefooted, we sloshed and kicked

on hot days, too poor for pools.

We were the kids who knew

what lay under the bridge, what

was in the woods and where

to find the quarters at the laundromat.

Our hands gripped bark faster

than lumberjacks, we climbed

to escape, breathed with trees,

borrowed their freedom,

and imagined ourselves into

better lives, we never knew

there was no such thing.

The Kingdom of You

We carved sand ditches with our toes

and laughed about the neighbors

who fought about the silly things in life.

The ocean belonged to you.

You let me visit it, showed me its wonders.

Let others trespass in your generosity.

We lived on these memories, promised

we would return and recapture your claim,

tell the crabs we were home again.

In your drug smattered dream-wakes I whispered

the sea into your ear like a prayer,

watched your once sun-burned skin sink deeper.

Each night of tubes and sob-wrenched pleas,

trying to squeeze my life into your hand,

I heard the waves crash in the hiss of the pumps.

I told you to go on ahead, to explore the new land,

find the jellyfish of it, and when I got there

I would bask with you in your kingdom, once more.

The Way You Went

mouth, your boots

cracked ice on the snow

and my face,

you took the path past

my window, steamed

with coffee and breathing.

I wanted to yell,

to pull you in,

pour hot things inside of you,

make you wake up.

Instead, I hid behind curtains,

pink swirls of chintz,

held my breath until you passed.

I hoped you didn't slip,

break bones, take out innocent

bystanders, embarrass me.

So I watched you go,

a Scotch on the rocks,

pretended not to feel you,

or the ache

of letting you walk by.

Copyright © 1999 by Christine L. Reed. All rights reserved.

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