The Kitchen Table is Antarctica

January 2, 2014January 3, 2014

And I am trapped among the ice
Floes, flapping my useless wings.
Radical guru drops his beats
Between my heart’s thumps.
My sons listen to music
With open lids, organs pumping
Strains into the icy air.
The island is white, the books
Stepping stones that lead
To terra firma. Water is my element
Of choice, but here it’s too cold.
The panic of flying toward land.
Necessary choice in lieu of drowning.

Day 2, Five-minute, mindful writing, small stones, Writing Our Way Home.

Published by Christine

Christine Swint’s poems have appeared in Calyx, Birmingham Poetry Review, Slant, a Journal of Poetry, Tampa Review, Heron Tree, Ekphrasis, and others. Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets, and she has won first place prizes from the Georgia Poetry Society and Agnes Scott College. Her first collection, Swimming This, was published in 2015 by FutureCycle Press. She teaches first-year composition at a metro-Atlanta university and writes about poetry, art, hiking, and yoga at Balanced on the Edge, https://balancedonedge.blog Twitter @christine_swint View all posts by Christine