5 Poems by Kristi Rathbun-Nimmo

Atomic Checkered Blankets

wool
warm checkered wool, red
wool, and black against
black skin, charred black
and red
bodies trapped by heat
and atoms at war
molecules, cells, fibers, muscles
at war long after the war
has ended

wool
checkered wool still clinging
to scents of summers spent
on hillsides green
with grasses and sweet
heat of days, summer days sowing
in spite of nations at war
before the flash fires and the burning
bubbled on bones exposed now
and blackened, before melted steel
and twisted cities groaned
with atomic tongues against roofs
parched and crumbling
when, with brushwood burning,
she held your hand and you
kissed her eyelids throughout the night
wrapped in checkered wool of black
and red—

wool cradles your form
quiet and crumbling against
a night painted cold with ash and stars
hydrogen light dripping green
down the dark horizon, pooling
at the roots, new foundations laid
for new generations


Solar Gods

Winged Mercury worships
the sun’s golden face, while
Venus drifts with gauzy secrets
‘neath volcanic lace.

Gaia, sapphire jewel, is flocked
with offerings and flowers,
and warrior Mars, once proud and strong
laments his waning power.

Reigning Jupiter, rotundest of kings
is crowned with Gossamer, Main, and Halo;
while spiteful Saturn, the overthrown
keeps Titans locked in tow.

Uranus slumbers in his diamond skin
while lullabies Titania sings;
proud Neptune, with wings of blue
keeps retinues of darkest rings.

And Pluto, forgotten brother
with dark Charon roams afar
as Eris beautiful and deadly
her discord softly weaves.


Alter Ego

She flits down the hall, her feet
ballet slipper soft on the hard
wood floors, four-inch
studded heels in hand,
those leg-breaking pumps
she knows I'll never wear,
those pumps that might break
a few necks too. Free
of the too-still, too-silent house
she slips them on, smiles
and saunters
down the street.


Jackrabbit Collision
  --from the Greeley Tribune, March 1915

Late in the night,

by bright lantern light,

Frank Olsen went out a-walking.

He got quite a scare,
when out of thin air,

a jackrabbit toppled him over.

He suffered great pain,
a bad ankle sprain,

his family, they wanted justice.

They looked high and low,

but as these things go,
no sign of the rabbit who done it.


reunion

january trees
empty field
hawks’ restless feathers

grasses on two rivers
frost burrowed deep
inside an old forgotten boot

we
lion-tamers all
once

seven years
and nothing left

but wilted
cardboard
crowns


Bionote

Kristi Rathbun-Nimmo hails from Colorful Colorado where she works as the Editor-in-Chief of Chantwood Magazine, as well as a freelance proofreader/editor. Her works include short fiction and poetry which has appeared in The Crucible, The High Plains Register, Luna Review, and others.