Christian Ward is a UK-based writer who can be recently found in Red Ogre Review, Discretionary Love and Stone Poetry Journal. Future poems will be appearing in Tipton Poetry Journal, BlueHouse Journal and elsewhere.
Wordsworth Tries Instagram
Streets turned to tundra
after a lunchtime argument:
A scattering of Snow Petrels
for pigeons. Red foxes for cats.
With not enough warmth between us
to make it thaw to grassland,
I suggested waiting until it passed.
You choose to disappear into
the incoming freeze like a Snow
Leopard, passing your coat of cold
to me when you came back.
I haven't been able to take it off since.
One, a miniature sea slug
encased in glass. Another,
a soft toy's beady eye. The last
displays the northern lights.
They retain their quality
even when violently flicked
across the playground tarmac.
How disappointed their creators
must be with us.
In the ancient forests
of central Mexico,
they shine brighter
than all the torches
lit by the local tribes.
Pity the dead
arguing like a pair
of jaguars over a kill.
A Minor Acquaintance
My mother's minor Italian
acquaintance, loud and voluminous
like a Rubenesque cloud,
is pestering her to knit something
for her great-granddaughter
due to arrive next month.
Browsing the children's clothing
in the supermarket, I tell her it's not
necessary since she's just a minor
acquaintance and can't drown anyone
out, no matter the request. My mother
shrinks like an overwashed garment
while remembering the distance
between herself and her daughters.
She longs to connect again, no matter
how minor the connection.