Christina Conrad

POEMS FROM All along the dark avenues of the soul (Soon to be released, 2001)

sacred logs in the kauri kitchen the smokey lamps were dimmer than the candles except for sudden mad flaming the small black-eyed sons almost engulfed adept at handling flame the swung the lamps as if on a ship they wheedled sharp knives slaughtering vegetables hacking at logs with little axes stoking up the fire until the chimney trembled flames licking the ceiling until it glowed red bringing the father down the hall to accuse us of burning all the wood instructing us to burn 1 stick at a time oblivious we burnt sacred logs gazing hungrily at furniture. (for krishna & julius) black shoes in bed on the hill behind your house 'mongst pigeons in the karaka trees you cut flax you wove me a basket you filled it with red apples you sent it to me you say you are going on a journey same time last year you returned from a journey you went where they left turtles to die on their backs in the sun where people were hungry you strolled under palm trees dressed in white you ate little bananas you came back in the dying sun i did not know your face you lay between me and my child we both had colds we barked like dogs you were surprised to see my child wearing black shoes in bed i write in the dying sun i have made a clay pot its mouth opens in a gasp the gasp is silenced by an egg the egg has exploded leaving the pot dark burnt looking (to Paola) room with black stove the room with the black stove was small- bare broken its window- cracked the child played in this room on a cold night creeping over the floor playing with dried oil paints under a naked light bulb in the corner above a huge mirror was a hole in the ceiling shewing the dead leaves of a rats nest around the peeling walls were pictures by my first born of people in 2 faces their hands exploding fireworks their eyes whirl pools (to Miro and Paola) white coral cunt when we were homeless every house we looked at you desired as if a woman offered her rooms spread out i am just a figurehead in borrowed rooms my flesh has grown i cut up cloth with blunt scissors thread rusty needles with blind eyes conduct fear as i slice the collar off a dying tiger coat yesterday in a rag pickers market i saw a white coral cunt on a plastic dish midst black bowler hats mens suits on wire coat hangers i asked you for five dollars to buy the coral cunt too expensive you said i've seen lots of these before alone on a remorseless couch i fondle the white coral cunt put it in my glow mesh bag put it in my long pink bag put it in my black antique box straw broom before you bathe your body i ask you to place the straw broom with the long red handle outside the bathroom door i must sweep love's naked floor so many crumbs become lodged in her cracks (for stoneking) coat i never wore my stitched coat for you coat of agony coat of deep rivers coat with ears of wheat coat with protecting eyes coat with savage teeth coat with stitches of minute agony coat i stitched with my painting, a deep wound coat i stitched with my bosoms, heavey in milk i never walked with you in red dress & stitched coat you never felt the stitches like secret scars in the sun

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Copyright Christina Conrad published with permission of the Poet. All rights reserved