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		Here's some poetry for you - if you like this, please go to my Poetry page for more - enjoy your stay...  

		

 Christina Wright


tug of war


broken string, i could lay down 
next to you 
cut my fingers from your touch
 listen
to your stories.

we’ve both been strung
to a perfect pitch
expected to perform accordingly.

you have an inconsistent plan
not really belonging anywhere.
displeased creators always 
asking for change, 
they twist you into 
obtuse angles
make you flexible -
 easy.

artists paint from your
metal tip onto their white canvass 
tracing your outline 
cutting you down to size

sizing you up

we’re the same, you and i

you try to pull my
hanging heart to another
but consistently fail

the knot is too loose

i’m always losing
my other half.

Christina Wright - July '99.



*Untitled* - 


Down in New Orleans
raves, deep beats,
burning incense in
the center of some 
too-brightly-lit street,
beat-up cars drip 
mysterious oils out of their bodies
 like piercings.

That soulful creation in our hotel room -
that common rose, lies drooping in
a Shot Glass on our
kitchen table -
depressing.

“These petals have been 
Weary for weeks now,” I complain.
A miracle - this wisp of God -
so silky - has survived this long
under such conditions.

Patiently, the willowing mess
waits to die - this shot glass -
hardly fitting for 
a relative of Romeo & Juliet -
a relative of romance.

Two drops of water can 
barely squeeze themselves 
into this glass  
(it’s only meant for light drinkers)
Even that amount 
must be poured out
every evening -

My sister needs her scotch.

This aging piece of 
Mother Nature lies
expectantly
on the bleached counter
peaceful - as soon as
my sister has reached the
state of sickness
it can be replenished.

Last night 
I watched the flower die -
the bloodshot petals 
slide
down to the linoleum.
I watched each one shatter
like tears.
I watched my sister
on hands and knees -
sucking the water from each petal, 
Murdering what was left
of god’s work


Christina Wright






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