Issue > Poetry

Chris C. Crew

Christopher Crew is an educator, father and flashlight party co-host. His poetry can be found in near-past or near-future issues of The Atlanta Review, Grub Street, The Briar Cliff Review, The Cincinnati Review and The Gettysburg Review.

I learn

From a relief pitcher's death,

the same
from my father’s body
20
was


the closest swath of


paper:

the warm
birth hurricanes—

his head.


internet:
neurons
wrap around
brain and
the seat
the breakers.

And the boats


painted
a board seat
to remember

around

From

movement




the windmill
toward
points
visible

each turn

astronomical

day we washed February
Victor
swam out into the cove. Venezuela
washed with gold
heat
lightening
sky.

From the

the propeller—in
salt waters that

struck

From the
three newly mapped

the whole
may be
of consciousness beyond

turtled
along the beach
are tropical
words, with just

the human body
that turned them
a blade.

water:
all
is borrowed
from stillness.

The propeller
is

home, the finer

only to those living

of those
years.