Christopher's poetry has been published in Digital Americana, Indian Review, Shot Glass Journal, Wilderness House Literary Review, and other literary journals. Christopher attended the University of Alabama at Birmingham and has just attended the A-I-R program at Byrdcliffe Artist Guild in Woodstock, NY.
A Young Man Struggles Across Fifty States
God, seeing man
stretched over
marriages
mothers
tombstones
what’s next
comes easy
for us.
It reminds one
of countries
full of laughing
gas, heads together
beside polite
words lipped
along every jail
from shadows
to the shaded
beaten
street
long since dulled
with feet
that fell
from paradise:
old friend,
go wax your wings
then try again,
again, again.
The Third Coming
There’s a hole in daddy’s arm
where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose.
-John Prine
Nowadays, no one moves
unless they’re shoved.
Jesus tricked everyone
by walking down a road
with his mouth open;
in turn, perspective closed it.
If he strolled into time
again there wouldn’t be
injustice; instead he’d get
a just room prepared
without corners or ledges,
a space for life
to lose fire
by shutting out the lights.
After Turning Old
When I’ve turned old enough
don’t disappear down
those hills we’ve shared.
let them perform
their own recital; otherwise
the memory folds.
if I turn about
in that tin-boat of dust
above the fireplace
atop the mantle
where all the children pause
for Christmas morning,
toss me in while they are stunned
by sleep.
Those ashes are not
bones—my bones were built
with God’s wrists.
When I am gone,
let another earth rise.
~CHRISTOPHER SUDA
