Charles Farrell   © 2010 All Rights Reserved

Our father the keeper

Of all things wooden and small;
his lust for the cheap and delicate,
his hands at dinner opening the Bible,

But only for the song of it, never
for the reason, he warned, so sing!
and we sang, with small hands and confusion,

Four long and hollow chimes
ringing down the nerves of puzzled winds,
drowning in our throats the sighs

Of gods we didn’t know
we were losing, gods
we would never miss, and mother
calling lunchtime, lunchtime.


Chrissy Rikkers
Copyright © 2010  

Chrissy Rikkers was the co-editor of Pacific Review’s 2008/09 issue, and editor of Poetry International’s New American Poets Chapbook Series. A graduate of SDSU's MFA Program, she currently lives and works in Montreal, Quebec, with her fiancé. Recent work is published in Portland Review, Cold Mountain Review, Tidal Basin Review, Basilica Review and San Diego Poetry Review.

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