Rick Christiansen
Rick Christiansen is a former corporate executive, stand-up comedian, actor and director. His work is published or forthcoming in MacQueen’s Quinterly, Oddball Magazine, Stone Poetry Journal, The Rye Whiskey Review, As It Ought to Be Magazine and other publications. His poem “BONE FRAGMENTS’ is included in the 2023 New Generational Beats Anthology from the National Beat Poetry Foundation. He has been recently nominated for a Touchstone Award. He is the co-host of SpoFest, a member of The Writer’s Place and a member of The St. Louis Writers Guild. He lives in Missouri near his eight grandchildren.
Snow in April
Big lazy unexpected flakes are falling.
The newly bloomed tulips tremble when their cups catch the crystals.
She stares out through the glass trying to discern this untimely tableau.
She knows she has vascular dementia.
But she still has a very full life.
She talks to people all day long.
But the hallucinations are intractable.
She cannot trust that her chatting partner is not smoke.
Still, one-sided dialogue is underrated.
She surprises herself with her secrets.
She needs this play of conversation to find her shifting boundaries
before they impinge and impact others in ways that she does not intend.
It is like that with this snow.
She asks herself if she should mention it.
She knows that they are planning to install the 5G soon.
She hopes that will improve her reception.
She hates to have to ask for things to be repeated.
If she tells about the snow they might move her down on the list.
It is starting to accumulate on the grass and the blooms are bending from the weight.
With shifting clarity and confusion
she remembers an NPR story about global warming.
She still remembers about the calories.
It makes her sad to remember enough
to know that she cannot always remember.
She decides to keep her own counsel.
The snow will certainly melt.
And the tulips will be unbowed when the weight of white cover has been lifted.
