ChristineWilcox.com

all the words

You don’t know what you’re asking

You don’t know what you’re asking when you ask for a poem… You’re asking me to give birth on demand from an empty womb…. … so instead I do heart surgery with rusty tools. And words pick up rust like white gloves pick… Continue Reading →

New York

Every cliché is true – the relentless rhythm at which you run would’ve worn out the best timepieces that have been set spinning in your lifespan – without a “yet,” you keep going. Old isn’t even a word here…. it’s just… Continue Reading →

Hi. I’m sorry. I don’t like you.

When I was in seventh grade, I clearly remember standing outside the doors of Clair E. Gale Jr. High before the first bell, telling a girl I went to school with that I didn’t want to hang out with her… Continue Reading →

Make America Kind Agan

I woke up this morning to Early Today showing angry mobs of people protesting in the streets. “We reject the president elect” was their mantra and battle cry. And my heart broke a little more than it did yesterday when… Continue Reading →

wip your second hand

your name became a scroll across the bottom of the screen today – followed by dead. needle. arm. and I wonder if at the moment when your second hand stopped you knew the gravity of it, or did it surprise… Continue Reading →

WiP Bonfire

you’re erased. not even the ghosted outline remains of your print on this space, and I feel like I should be standing on your grave instead of on the ashes of a life you left with so much ease… I’ve… Continue Reading →

WiP beautiful

as I’ve grown older I’ve come to know, what I’ve believed about beautiful is no more than paint to a canvas, chisel to marble, words to a page – malleable, fixable – even erasable – The North Star won’t change… Continue Reading →

there is no noise but in the hollow

there is no noise but in the hollow of my ear I hear the swift click of you at a typewriter. Ignoring the cold chilling London 1962 A steady drip of water from the bath breaks you — Your Children… Continue Reading →

Enough

You, who has as many alibis as enemies, still rake across the tired paths we created long ago. Dragging Charon’s stick, your smile, full of blacks and bony whites, Still haunts the very image I once held in such regard…. Continue Reading →

Before the First Draft

The problem, she said, with being a writer is, it’s never done. The line never ceases movement even when the end arrives – The ripples created on the mind span an ocean so vast, so incomplete, There’s no shore to… Continue Reading →

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