Christian Anton Gerard
Steelhead Don’t Ask Where the White Goes
-Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
Vein figure. Right forearm. Pitch-
fork. There’s blood in there. There’s nine
circles in there. There, there. There,
there. Sometimes I need my sweet
slow cry time. Left forearm. A
river’s mouth. A salmon run.
There’s something in there calls the
heart home. There, there. Heart, I swear.
Sometimes I need my river
mouth crying sign. September
Fifteen Two Thousand Twelve. Where
my walkway ends, tees into
the sidewalk. No crossroads. No
walkaways. No. There. It was
there. I could stand. I stood. I
couldn’t drive. Had driven. There,
there. There, there I stood both arms
above my head. That crying
time. Shirt on my back, then no.
There, September. There, kissing
sun kissing the coming night.
That old kissing game. Once a
black dress. One night white satin.
Once, nothing but a tree’s trunk
in my hands. There, September
Fifteen Two Thousand Twelve I
felt that evening kissing game.
All those eves. There, there ride four
horsemen under my shirt. Shirt
on my back, then no. Took it
off. Shirt like skin. Shirt as skin.
My skin. There, thinner than a
tear’s voice. There, these eyes singing
litanies. My own gospels.
There, there. There, there. The song in
this wannabe cowboy’s cry
time. Steelhead don’t ask where the
white goes when the snow’s gone. They
just go there. There where they’ll give
until their hearts give out. There
they go. September Fifteen
Two Thousand Twelve. I was
there. My own river’s mouth. Those
veins. My pitchfork’s blood-lined tines.
Christian Anton Gerard's first book of poems is Wilmot Here, Collect For Stella (WordTech, CW Books imprint, 2014). He's received Pushcart Prize nominations, scholarships from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference and an Academy of American Poets Prize. Some of his recent poems appear or are forthcoming in storySouth, Post Road, Redivider, Pank, Orion, Smartish Pace, B-O-D-Y, The Rumpus, and The Journal. He currently lives in Fort Smith, AR, where he is an Assistant Professor of English, Rhetoric, and Writing at the University of Arkansas-Fort Smith.
Return to November 2015 Edition
-Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
Vein figure. Right forearm. Pitch-
fork. There’s blood in there. There’s nine
circles in there. There, there. There,
there. Sometimes I need my sweet
slow cry time. Left forearm. A
river’s mouth. A salmon run.
There’s something in there calls the
heart home. There, there. Heart, I swear.
Sometimes I need my river
mouth crying sign. September
Fifteen Two Thousand Twelve. Where
my walkway ends, tees into
the sidewalk. No crossroads. No
walkaways. No. There. It was
there. I could stand. I stood. I
couldn’t drive. Had driven. There,
there. There, there I stood both arms
above my head. That crying
time. Shirt on my back, then no.
There, September. There, kissing
sun kissing the coming night.
That old kissing game. Once a
black dress. One night white satin.
Once, nothing but a tree’s trunk
in my hands. There, September
Fifteen Two Thousand Twelve I
felt that evening kissing game.
All those eves. There, there ride four
horsemen under my shirt. Shirt
on my back, then no. Took it
off. Shirt like skin. Shirt as skin.
My skin. There, thinner than a
tear’s voice. There, these eyes singing
litanies. My own gospels.
There, there. There, there. The song in
this wannabe cowboy’s cry
time. Steelhead don’t ask where the
white goes when the snow’s gone. They
just go there. There where they’ll give
until their hearts give out. There
they go. September Fifteen
Two Thousand Twelve. I was
there. My own river’s mouth. Those
veins. My pitchfork’s blood-lined tines.
Christian Anton Gerard's first book of poems is Wilmot Here, Collect For Stella (WordTech, CW Books imprint, 2014). He's received Pushcart Prize nominations, scholarships from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference and an Academy of American Poets Prize. Some of his recent poems appear or are forthcoming in storySouth, Post Road, Redivider, Pank, Orion, Smartish Pace, B-O-D-Y, The Rumpus, and The Journal. He currently lives in Fort Smith, AR, where he is an Assistant Professor of English, Rhetoric, and Writing at the University of Arkansas-Fort Smith.
Return to November 2015 Edition