top of page
  • kingalipinska627

April 19, 2023_4 Poems

by Chris Gallagher

A card you sent last year

Now and then I find

the confetti that you put inside

still on my floor here, or there

Glinty pink

I leave it on purpose.

As now you cast your silence to my every corner.


My Comforter

The blanket at the foot of your bed—

Unfold it only for me

As I sleep in a stream of sun

On your midday couch.



It’s a long story

She said

And promptly forgot it

She proceeded to tell it

Shopping to sell it

Lies and some lies

Truth and half-true

Sea elder longs for the uphill lie

Sanctuary waits beyond the curvèd drive

It’s simple

She said

But no it is not

Mixing like cocktails

We promptly drank

And forgot.


Johns Island Rain

Warm four in the morning rain

Storms out to sea that flash and roll—

mourning in silence

Storms weave themselves in, out of backroad plots

Thundertops tower improbably past that flat beach


Science fiction forests of cloud rise as an angry army of

electric moisture

A huddle of small low islands; sways.

What can you do? Nothing.

Tilt your head back and let the centuries run rivulets

down the corner of your mouth into the salt marsh and gravel shoulder of the


Dry Street and Winnies Way; Shadow Pond and Blackground

The Cassique chiefs— Black-Crowned Night Herons

wordlessly watch as we ground and spit their old

bones into fairway mulch.

The storm has merged with the sea to the east— your

poor tracks in her wake; gone.

A small last pebble of time before the island calls her

warm, patient life to stir.

12 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page