Christy’s Reviews > 1988: Selected poems and texts, nineteen seventy three-1988 > Status Update
Christy
is on page 85 of 109
you come into the pines.
in the North,
you are coming into
the pines, now.
you are north
of North Bay, now
jack, red, to white pines,
it’s fun picking them out.
snow, granular
like sugar;
night receding across the lines
light, daylight and now
and you are coming into
the brittle snap
cold -
a descent
mouth open
the altitude and
rock face,
to the dark water,
mirror of stars.
— Sep 25, 2022 02:10PM
in the North,
you are coming into
the pines, now.
you are north
of North Bay, now
jack, red, to white pines,
it’s fun picking them out.
snow, granular
like sugar;
night receding across the lines
light, daylight and now
and you are coming into
the brittle snap
cold -
a descent
mouth open
the altitude and
rock face,
to the dark water,
mirror of stars.
Like flag
Christy’s Previous Updates
Christy
is on page 105 of 109
With each circle and with each
divide I will too be there,
you will look over your shoulder;
and this too, we both know
will ache in the column
most clear and light.
— Sep 26, 2022 06:33AM
divide I will too be there,
you will look over your shoulder;
and this too, we both know
will ache in the column
most clear and light.
Christy
is on page 103 of 109
spice scent of after-shave
Father wore. this room contracts.
a dime size, poem
I wrote for him, folded paper,
placed to his breast at
cremation.
Now, to write again
a new poem, freshly
singed, this smell
in air.
— Sep 26, 2022 06:32AM
Father wore. this room contracts.
a dime size, poem
I wrote for him, folded paper,
placed to his breast at
cremation.
Now, to write again
a new poem, freshly
singed, this smell
in air.
Christy
is on page 102 of 109
McCaul Street
no on.
street’s air, chill.
roadside piles of dried leaves
blown, scatter noisily
over pavement:
single leaf
carried up in wind; up
I enter,
thinking,
‘… died, white
in her.’
the moon is clear in this sky,
in my small heart.
— Sep 26, 2022 06:15AM
no on.
street’s air, chill.
roadside piles of dried leaves
blown, scatter noisily
over pavement:
single leaf
carried up in wind; up
I enter,
thinking,
‘… died, white
in her.’
the moon is clear in this sky,
in my small heart.
Christy
is on page 76 of 109
'life is a short patter before
the mongolling of death,' a curious traffic of words across
accident-tending city streets, long breaths of literate
exhaltation
reducing of being
from tangled thought's
strands feeling, breath
and line a
memory of touch
stone cancel
'd breath
to
— Sep 22, 2022 06:32AM
the mongolling of death,' a curious traffic of words across
accident-tending city streets, long breaths of literate
exhaltation
reducing of being
from tangled thought's
strands feeling, breath
and line a
memory of touch
stone cancel
'd breath
to
Christy
is on page 75 of 109
everything falls away
to the edge
nothing is repeated.
each moment,
/ a woman, finely-dressed,
work perhaps,
walks by
/ a pigeon floats past a blue
parked car
breathless, a centre
where words gather,
every clever perception
falls away:
the centre is breathless
like brilliant light
crescent moon
fills the pool,
heart, pure and clear
is a paradise land.
— Sep 21, 2022 11:43AM
to the edge
nothing is repeated.
each moment,
/ a woman, finely-dressed,
work perhaps,
walks by
/ a pigeon floats past a blue
parked car
breathless, a centre
where words gather,
every clever perception
falls away:
the centre is breathless
like brilliant light
crescent moon
fills the pool,
heart, pure and clear
is a paradise land.
Christy
is on page 37 of 109
She is past and onward walking down her future, holding envelope and leather bag under arm, holding hesitations which linger in a storage of air.
— Sep 19, 2022 08:22PM
