Poetry by Christina M. Rau

                 ​The Grim Atheist CC




Smoke

The boys who smoked used Zippo lighters
we bought them, engraved special, so they
would know we loved them.

That one dusk I bought a pack at the corner
gas station, the cashier, a little woman still
taller than me, said with a sigh that I was so
pretty and too young, and I said they weren’t
for me but for him at home, and we locked in
a stare for a moment, trying to understand something.

The boys put out fires. The boys prayed for fires.
The boys put out the fires they prayed for. They
prayed for heat and sparks so they could drop 
what they were doing, so they could drive fast,
flash their lights, throw on heavy gear, and jump
into flames.

Our cars smelled like smoke
stale and old, seats stained, indented,
all grime. They had stains on their hands.
We held them, exchanged them among us,
shared secrets, compared what we’d found.

That one late night the one who was unattainable
who would never notice could never notice
why would he ever notice stood in front of me
on his basement stairs where he’d brought me
to show me something, unexpected and raw,
and then the next day, gone.

Then the next year, they were all gone. 
Then a passing by occurred here and there
at counters and from distances far enough
to be unsure.

Then two decades later when driving to pay a bill
far from cigarettes, ash, and cigars, the street becomes
familiar, the new car passes the old house. Off guard
the smoke floods back, but not the love. That never was.

​



Why Does Friday Seem So Long Ago

I gave up on
giving in-
a day turned into a different night
showed the bleaching of the world
with one quick fist.
A harrowed sky as synonym for memory,
winter warmth, and dead notebooks.
Paper layers peel back.
Fingernails curl under.
This time it all sticks together;
it’s a good sticking
the kind that clings from giving over
and getting through.
The erosion of memory
heals all wounds.

​

​Christina M. Rau is the author of the 2021 collection What We Do To Make Us Whole, the Elgin Award-winning Liberating the Astronauts, and the chapbooks WakeBreatheMove and For The Girls, I. Her work has also appeared in publications including fillingStation, The Disappointed Housewife, and Reader's Digest. When she's not writing, she's teaching yoga or watching the Game Show Network. www.christinamrau.com
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