I wish I didn’t have to know that inside every adult there is a spirit-sized wound that spews like a child’s volcano project creeping into the hallway, like the first zit on my nose that I popped in the mirror and made squirt across the bathroom, because I thought if I could make what was inside it fly further than I was tall, I would be cool. This came to me this morning when, in my usual fashion, I sat down at my desk and started to brood about the dark night of the soul I’ve been traveling through since I was supposedly too young to have one, and was reminded of the street I grew up on and how I spent what seemed my whole childhood looking at it from the end of my driveway like it was a river I’d need to decide which way to float down. The truth is I still haven’t made up my mind, and in fact, I’m still there, picking my nose and playing with myself in a place and time before leaving, wondering which way I should go, right or left, left or right, when I know both ways eventually intersect at the beginning of another street, intersect at the beginning of another parallel, another decision I’ll spend the next two decades squeezing myself onto. I have a self-awarded doctorate in being indecisive and whimsical, which is to say now I’m an expert in letting the wind blow what’s left of my hair into the next hairstyle, because cool as far as my baby head can tell, has always arrived from someplace as cold, dark and uncomfortable as a squabbling couple behind a door arguing over a fart that wasn’t taken outside of time and soul to a place beyond the house.
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