3 Poems by Craig Kirchner

ADIEU
(Previously Published by 7th Circle Pyrite)

The most memorable are the finals,
my father on a morphine drip,
burying my first dog, Sporty.
According to Oxford, goodbye
is shortened God-to-be-with-you.

Surfing more on farewells,
Even the most unreligious among us
invokes God more than we might think,
especially when parting from another person -
first thoughts are of my purported agnosticism.

I think of myself, 
as the most unreligious,
of my family, friends, and acquaintances,
not afraid to burn in hell,
but there is in my world, a God. 

It’s not he or she, is not judgmental,
doesn’t need a congregation,
is never asked for anything, 
doesn’t preside at board meetings, 
or struggle with pronouns.

Every morning with vanilla coffee,
ADIEU gets plugged into 
Wordle to determine today’s vowels.
It’s a sexy way to say goodbye,
literally to the French, means to God.

There is some solace this morning,
after surfing, and getting it in three,
that this churchless infidel, 
starts every day with Starbucks,
remembering the finals, and a prayer.

 Oracle

The condo faces the woods, 
20 feet of grass walkway, 
then hundred-year-old trees, 
Spanish moss, thick brush, 
a stream running through the thickest of it. 

There’s an indentation, a ‘V’, 
shaped by thick weeds. 
Neighbors stop here to admire the trees, 
and reflect on their day. 
Racoons chose this spot to exit the woods in 
nocturnal searches for food and mischief. 

I visit often to meditate and ponder,
when all else does not respond 
or can’t possibly know. 
There is no trail but an aura. 
The weeds flow in the breeze 
as the woods maternally absorb 
contemplations, 

give back the wisdom 
of the stream gently, strategically 
making its way across the small rocks, 
as though there is nothing it doesn’t know,
and can’t eventually find.

As it ought to be

The carefully arranged bouquet of yellow roses
in the hand etched crystal vase gives the table 
and the room a fresh spring look.
The sunny-side fried egg just beginning to brown 
at the edges makes the morning that much better,
and puts me in the mood to make sauce.

The planet swirls through space 
choreographed with the sun to provide 
glorious new days and sunsets. 
Gravity keeps us perfectly connected to it 
and to each other, keeps the sauce in the
pot and the pot on the stove.

We teach our children to love, and that happiness
comes when there is no hate and fear, that we
should champion those with less and the most
vulnerable whenever possible. To win with
humility, lose graciously and to understand 
that is the only way to succeed.

They grow up, we get old. They have kids.
We tell them how we taught their parents
to love, not hate. Our youngest granddaughter
tells us about the shooting drills at school,
and that she doesn’t remember news without
war, and children dying, politics of separation.

The sauce is perfect, full of porcinis, sweetened
with a pork tenderloin. The water is boiling.
The oldest granddaughter will be sixteen 
in a month and driving. She loves pasta and her sister,
had a hat-trick yesterday with her travel team
and knows the sauce will be how it ought to be.

 Craig Kirchner loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. He has been published in Chiron Review, Sybil, Main Street Rag and more than 100 others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig has an interview at Spillword and can be found on Bluesky.

Aloha Spirit - David Mampel (2017)