Journal

In the winter of separation

there is a raven that watches, that holds
all in its black eye. Sun gathers
where you stood
on the thawed, green patch.
I watch and, with the cold,
am the hard shimmer of ice layering
the apple branches.
Those times under cathedral
eaves, they speak to me
of graves, but they are not dead.
They do not know the feel of earth.
Squirrels a dry rustle through the branches,
falling beneath piano keys, the crushing
black and white of sky. The cold
falls closer and I move to stand
where you were,
feet wet in the melting grass.

Elijah Welter graduated recently from Corban University with a B.S. in Humanities. Currently living near the gray banks of the North Santiam, he finds inspiration in the works of W.S. Merwin, T.S. Eliot, and Gerard Manley Hopkins.

There, In Eternity

In the great beyond, that other world
where we must all begin
another life
I hope to meet Georges Simenon
and also Oscar Wilde.

It would be odd to see them both
in the same place, at the same time,
these men, so different
in manner and attire.

Georges, with his pipe,
like his Inspector Maigret,
in suit and tie, or open collar,
always honest, and direct.
And Oscar, ever-elegant,
the ready wit,
the cigarette
perfectly held, his wrist bent.

Gentlemen, I will say, welcome,
welcome to my table. Please, take a chair.
There’s bread and cheese,
there’s fruit and cake,
and refreshment
I thought you each might like.

For you, Monsieur Simenon, some calvados
and, of course, champagne for Mister Wilde.
As for me, I’ll light this slender joint,
the best maui zowie green,
and in this crystal glass, I’ll mix
calvados and champagne.

What grace, this pleasure,
to while away the hours
with Simenon and Wilde, you,
who filled me to the brim,
my mind and heart and soul;
you left me awed and always glad
to have known you in your work.

Let’s drink to writers,
to women, men,
to love and life,
then let us hear that chime once more
and drink to language, music,
poets, poetry
and this poem
that brought you, and you, and me
together, here
in this circle of infinity.

Cristina Luisa White is a life-long reader, writer, and artist. Her most recent book is Sex and Soul: A Memoir of Salvation. She writes and tends a small garden in Corvallis, Oregon, where she lives with her wife and innumerable books. You can see more of her work at www.cristinalwhite.com