Bucky was overturning logs in his backyard, and admiring the salamander in his hand. “That’s quite a salamander you have there,” I said. “You’re just saying that in order to make yourself feel more comfortable around me,” he said. “That may be true, Bucky. But at least I’m trying to get to know you.” I said. He positioned the salamander on his palm in such a way that it was looking at me, and then began talking to it about me right in front of me. “Attack!” Bucky said. The salamander jumped from his palm and began to try to crawl between my crossed forearms, into my neck area the way a Doberman tries to lick your neck, except its little teeth were bared, and I thought I heard some angry sounds coming from it. I took it to the ground and tried to put it in a restraint that would give me the extra second I needed to back away without getting a backhand from it. Bucky watched beside a lady slipper. I put in a full nelson, and it raised its arm straight up, using its body weight to slip out of my grip and down between my legs, where it up-punched me in the groin. Before I knew it Bucky had put me in a figure-four-leg-lock, and his little buddy was licking his teeth on the tip of my nose. I prayed to the God of holy murder and super strength that he might make me fast enough to un-pretzel myself before arteries got severed, and return with an attack that could not be thwarted. I broke my legs. I broke my arms. I pulled the arteries out of my throat. There was nothing they could do to me I hadn’t already done to myself. I was alone. My niece saw me through the kitchen window and came outside. “What are you doing out here on the grass, break dancing?” She said. “Let’s go downtown to the state house and stop some traffic,” I said. “We just came back from the state house,” she said. “Oh, why didn’t you say so,” I said. I could see she was getting frustrated with not being able to tell her ass from her elbow. Maybe she was developing a tick.
Published by Chris Russell
Hi, I'm Chris, and thank you so much reader for visiting my blog and wanting to learn a little bit about me. I know time is a hot commodity these days, more so now than ever I think, which is why it’s my hope that you make it a priority to read my poems under some low light when you have some time on your hands and can really read and reread them closely and experience something shining in them. It’s my sincerest hope that they make you want to look at yourself, your world, and poetry itself a little differently, while they also encourage you to be more kind and gentle with yourself and others. I know when I read a poem, regardless of its subject, I expect to feel asked in and touched by its speaker. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn’t. That’s the way it goes, right? It would be great though if some of these poems brushed against you. As for when I write, it’s always my intention to lift and exteriorize more understandably complex emotions and states of consciousness I’m currently experiencing, and it's usually through an analysis and highly conscious reframing of my childhood that this happens, though I’ve been known to veer into writing surreal-like absurdism and allegorical prose poetry when the wind splits me that way. Where am I on the planet? This MFA in Writing fossil with an ever expanding Dad bod now lives and works in Concord, New Hampshire where I currently divide much of my time between writing, blogging, assisting middle school students who have special needs, and navigating the journey that is my own really unimpressive, but no less valuable dark night. From my own cave in the wilderness, I’d like to say thanks again for stopping by and spending some of your invaluable time. I invite you to please put your feet up and subscribe for a while, and if you’re feeling moved by one of my poems please share it with a dear friend, preferably someone who doesn’t like poetry. View all posts by Chris Russell