I.
Waste-whipped, we climb—
facing away from wind impossible
when wind gusts from every angle
eddying tiny tornadoes
a white out winter.
This isn’t winter though; it barely
was. One storm then gone but
the air keeps dry and silent
and bone joints crack. What was
once flexible has stiffened
like a starched bleached board.

II.
It had gotten better.
How is it now much worse.

III.
Back in ’02 hurt seemed precious,
longing a hobby, and loving a vice.
Now we measure time by decades
to save what little we have left.

IV.
You got yourself into something unexpected.
You got yourself out of it with a truth that
revealed a lie. Or maybe it wasn’t lying.
Or somehow it was both, and either way,
a wreckage. As you said it would be,
not a prediction but a pattern of fact,
though you’re not alone and you can stop
looking around to catch a glance. Your mind
can rest as another body falls to the ground
every morning upon rising. We blame
the universe for these petty things.

V.
Trees are dying. So are people.

VI.
Blue eyed firecracker.
One secret hallway down the cellar stairs.
The door never locked, only needs a push
through; that’s when things were different
as in the saying
Things were different back then
when things and back then are
relative, and different is a synonym
for how now is all injury unable to heal.

– Christina M. Rau