Christopher Leibow
Excerpts from Riparia Suite
*
are in the amber color of sap —
oozing from our
carved initials,
laying on top
of each other.
a talisman –
that expands
each year
marked; the white sycamore
at the bend of the river.
The River.
*
There are no
roads to here.
how did we…
how did I end
up on this side
of the river?
Are we two
migrating
birds - did we
get lost
by a shift
of constellations?
Under a wet canopy
I build a fire
under the skin.
*
While you
sleep
I send you
small birds
to weave
words
into your
hair
but the river
holds me
back -
Instead she
weaves herself.
Did you wonder
why on waking
the damp
pillowcase?
*
She weaves red
thread into river-water
the dusk around her rests on rivulets,
alights on gold leaf spin
casts small shadows across bare skin
She now sings
Rocks a lullaby — rocks the river
On the shore a paper boat sitting on a bedside table
the bed and the child -
his eyes getting heavy
and heavier.
*
She is always
arriving
always
leaving
I am still
here
on the shore
throwing stones
over the river’s
undulating
body
This morning
did you
hear their
damp dead
thump
among
the damp fallen
leaves
calling
to you?
Excerpts from Riparia Suite
*
are in the amber color of sap —
oozing from our
carved initials,
laying on top
of each other.
a talisman –
that expands
each year
marked; the white sycamore
at the bend of the river.
The River.
*
There are no
roads to here.
how did we…
how did I end
up on this side
of the river?
Are we two
migrating
birds - did we
get lost
by a shift
of constellations?
Under a wet canopy
I build a fire
under the skin.
*
While you
sleep
I send you
small birds
to weave
words
into your
hair
but the river
holds me
back -
Instead she
weaves herself.
Did you wonder
why on waking
the damp
pillowcase?
*
She weaves red
thread into river-water
the dusk around her rests on rivulets,
alights on gold leaf spin
casts small shadows across bare skin
She now sings
Rocks a lullaby — rocks the river
On the shore a paper boat sitting on a bedside table
the bed and the child -
his eyes getting heavy
and heavier.
*
She is always
arriving
always
leaving
I am still
here
on the shore
throwing stones
over the river’s
undulating
body
This morning
did you
hear their
damp dead
thump
among
the damp fallen
leaves
calling
to you?
Christopher Leibow is a poet, a visual artist and a performer of small slights of hand. He is an MFA graduate of Antioch and has been published in numerous journals and online, including Circa, Interim, and Barrow Street and Likewise Folio with upcoming publications in 2 Bridges and the Sugarhouse Review. His art has appeared in Lumina, 491 Magazine and has been a featured artist online with Cha: A Journal of Asian Writing and OFZOOs. He is a two time Pushcart Award nominee and a Utah Book Award Nominee and the winner of the Writers@WorkWriters Advocate Award in 2008.currently lives in Salt Lake City, with his cat Count Orly.
