Sunday, 17 May 2009

Passadumkeag by Chris Crittenden

i drift like a birch canoe
sewn of strips of my skin.
each artery a stolen name:
passadumkeag,
mattawamkeag,
abagadasset.

there are deer in my chest,
and a few bear; but there should be wolves
and pumas too.
we live in a world
where paws hardly sprint
and streetlamps slaughter.

our bright minds ride wires,
but part of me refuses to budge.
i don't want a son
with chips in his nape.

some of us will not cross over
into that place
where raindrops fall on screens.
we choose real wind.
natural leaves over the virtual.


Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA

3 comments:

Crafty Green Poet said...

Chris Crittenden lives near a lighthouse in a remote coastal area. There are no traffic or street lights nearby. He believes poetry explifies the depth and honesty to which humans can attain. Some recent acceptances are from Poems Niederngasse, Poetic Diversity, DMQ Review and Thick With Conviction. He thanks you for reading his poems!

Crafty Green Poet said...

new bio: Chris Crittenden swoons over spruce trees and birch bark, and delights in stormy tides that sculpt rocky shores. If his poems save an owl--somehow,somewhere, someday--it will have all been worthwhile. He thanks the readers of Bolks of Silk for reading, and for any comments.

Kelly said...

Beautiful piece. I especially like the opening stanza, that's a great image. (I also like the bio: poems saving owls.) Thank you!