Tuesday, February 16, 2021






Stones will weigh you down,

break your bones.

Leave them by the roadside

for the next sucker

to try on for size,

send condolences

when they’re buried in the rubble




7 a.m.



We stayed up until

7 a.m. that morning

to finish the job

but nothing felt different,

your eyes were discolored

as if the color blue

had ceased to exist,

your body was cold in touch

and manner,

business-like, handshake salutations,

stiff arms, shifty hands,

no recognition of sacrifice,

no piece of the puzzle

had been altered.

All pieces, borders and middles,

still lay strewn on the floor,

getting kicked under the furniture,

edges fraying,

the image broken,

misaligned, incomplete,

even after I helped assemble

the frame.

I was exhausted,

staring at you

with hooded eyes

in the middle of your daydream

where somehow

you did it all yourself.




Money and Courage



The globe showed him

the Seychelles

and he decided

that’s where he would go,

the Indian ocean

would be his new home.


He hesitated,

then gave the globe

another spin;

Lima, Peru.

South America,

a different America

than the one

he was currently

floundering in,

there must be

new life there.


One more time,

he reasoned,

and the Seychelles

entreat him again.

The final decision was made.

All he needed

was money

and courage.

He pulled out                    

his empty pockets,

searched a pale heart,

stared at the blue water

of the globe,

swimming in halting,

awkward strokes

until the ocean

consumed him.

Two fingers reached

for his new home

then fell listlessly

to his bedroom carpet.




My Words



These words I write

are for me.

You can read them

but they remain mine.

You took so much

in the past

I won’t let you have

my words.

They don’t sound right

on your tongue

and your eyes

don’t see the meaning.

When I write them down

the universe takes notice,

a bond is formed

that only links me

to my words.

You don’t get an invitation

to this party for one,

the words I write

are for me

even when they’re about you.





Fairweather Street




Houses dot the landscape,

family dwellings

holding the American dream of

mom, dad and 2.5 children.

“Don’t forget me,” says Maxi

the golden retriever

and we all laugh.

Infrastructure delineates one side of the street

from the other,

roads, bridges and right-of-ways,

the lines separating chaos.

A new house has just been built

waiting for a new family,

an addition to the neighborhood,

a mystery.

Will they be friend or foe?

The birds and squirrels don’t care,

but the couple across the street does.

It’s quiet now

but after they move in

the kids might scream,

the TV may blare,

maybe the husband and wife will fight,

life on Fairweather Street hangs in the balance.

Houses fill the landscape,

family dwellings

lost inside the American dream.




The Churn




The bridge is closed,

I can’t get to you.

There’s wreckage

in the water,

someone went over the side

thrashing in the churn.

He looks like me,

but no one is helping,

they’re turning around

to go another way.

This is the only route

you gave me.

I said your name

and a line of cold water spilled from my mouth.

My ears have closed,

all I can hear

is the rush of waves.

I want out of the car

but the door won’t open.

The bridge is closed,

I can’t get to you.




 Christopher Hivner

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...