New Floor

the boards lay passive,
like fresh slabs of pollock,
filleted and waiting
for clean soles of feet.

we walk the wares
half-seeing our eyes
in the shiny flesh,
commenting on the sawn
personalities:

how one knothole
postures like a grumpy sage,
another like a galactic dent,
and a third someone's peekaboo-playing
child.

the grain impresses
our company enough:
lively, rich,
flaxen as a Van Gogh wheatfield,
delicate with innuendo.

so much money
was sunk into it, it turns out.
lumbermen questioned.
saw mills selected.

yet wonderful
to have sunlight redound
off the planks just so,
infuse our pinot noirs
and chardonnays.



Sheepscot Skinny-Dip

i belly-inch in knee-high water,
big white crayfish
not calm like algae-slick stones,
or the sparse thatch of logs
serving as rungs.

the Sheepscot gurgles faintly,
nuzzles my ribs,
cool yet uplifting,
preening my toes
with an occasional darner.

it's not unhappy as a guide,
chuckles when i slip in mud,
telling me my past
started here, when the world
itself was a river,

beginning to flow.

every crook and wicker
my hand greets
below lazy greenamber
reminisces;
i feel burbles, fidgets, glyphs,
such odd figurines
under my palms:

am i not touching
what my bones
will meander to be?
will i look up someday,
not to stars,
but scarlets that float?


Chris Crittenden was recently interviewed on Poets Café, a radio show of KPFK Los Angeles [very exciting!]. Additionally, he was invited to read at the University of Maine, for their program, “Meet Prominent Down East Poets.” Some recent acceptances are from: Hobble Press Review, Cider Press Review, Arsenic Lobster and Poetry Friends. He lives in the easternmost town in the US, near the Quoddy Lighthouse, with his artist wife Shanna and their two cats Barley and Bello.