Kersten Christianson

Wonderment
 
In days of tent
and nomad,
 
sharp blade
and compass,
 
we settled
into our evening
 
sleep, serenaded
by love songs
 
of loons.  Distant,
haunting, their calls
 
cinctured the lake.
Legs destined
 
for water, forever
circling.

 

The Order of Birds
              First line credit to the poet, Joy Harjo
 
Birds are singing the sky into place. Dipper, robin, sparrow; my mornings begin before the wink of daylight, to flit, chip, twitter, buzz, a cacophony of songbird riot among bare-branched alders, cedar boughs, chaos ringing in my ears. Forgetting they fly, bird shadows chase across the mossy yard, weave in and under last season’s raspberry canes on skinny legs, delicate feet. Some money in my pocket, some money in my pocket, I wear hammered silver raincloud earrings with indigo Russian trade beads, tiny rain chains downpour as it does here all too frequently. Have I bartered baubles for the shroud covering the morning set moon? Have I jinxed the chance of a warming April sun?
 
Soon, hummingbirds drink
from salmonberry blossom;
from columbine bloom.

 

Could Have Been
 
Those slate streets of Vancouver
my feet pounding pavement, wrapping
around the corners of one gritty-hard block
 
into the next. Marigolds in their saffron
dresses lean over their metal fences of breeze-
creaking baskets, bright swinging constellations,
 
their gaze a boom against blue sky. Or maybe
wave-kissed Francois Lake, thunderstorm 
rolling across distant peaks, knee-deep
 
in current, my legs a mooring, safe harbor
in the larger lagoon of here, or there. I carry
a spool of loose threads wherever I go;
 
bits and pieces of memory like photos washed-
out by time. An ear open for new stories,
nothing is left threadbare.

 

Kersten Christianson derives inspiration from wild, wanderings, and road trips. She has authored Curating the House ofNostalgia (Sheila-Na-Gig, 2020), What Caught Raven’s Eye (Petroglyph Press, 2018), and Something Yet to Be Named(Kelsay Books, 2017). Additionally, she is the poetry editor of the quarterly journal, Alaska Women Speak. Kersten lives with her daughter in Sitka, Alaska where she keeps an eye on the tides, shops Old Harbor Books, and hoards smooth ink pens.