Selected Poetry by Christine Glade
Remembering My Brother
Before He Became A Cult Leader
Didn't they see
you could only tell the truth
while bouncing a ball.
A boy's heart
pounding
Thump! Thump!
Thump! Thump!
Up and down the asphalt driveway
across the kitchen linoleum,
off the garage door.
Another window
taken out of your allowance.
So many voices
All shouting
Stop it with that ball.
Swapping Yen for Pesos in Montreal
The Pakistani woman
speaks French at first
unaware that
another dumb American
stands before her
peeling off bills
like a Vegas blackjack dealer.
Counting.
Fifty. Fifty-one thousand. Fifty-two thousand.
I slide my Yen
beneath the partition
the visible force field
that protects her
from her fear.
Quick, deliberate taps
with the rounded eraser end of her pencil
before she spins the calculator
around to reveal the new magic number.
I nod my agreement,
Never questioning the faith
I put into people
or their electronics.
She counts
Un, deux, trois, Four Hundred
Un, deux, trois, Forty
Before she slides a short stack
Of colorful bills back to me.
Wondering whose likeness
graces the colorful currency
that I just folded in half
I think maybe I ought to
research the country's history
before landing in Mexico.
I know I won't. I turn to exit
and wonder whose likeness graces
the glass door as I push my own reflection out of the way
and melt into the bustle of Boulevard Rene-Levesque.
The Day's Silhouette
Wholly satisfied, the sun rests its head on
the earth's soft shoulder
and paints the grass with a treasure
map of long shadows
that will lead us back to the ecstasy of this
day, should we follow them
The wind, fierce and panting only a short time
ago
breathes evenly once again and occasionally
sighs,
unable to form words describing it's pleasure
And all things open reluctantly close
like eyes
accepting the darkening stillness of sleep
and the deepening embrace
of dreams.
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Stools
by Christine Glade
