Christine Rhein: People used to ask
my father for advice — how to fix
a chimney crack,
a sagging porch, how to realign
a patio — bricks upheaved
Christine Rhein: Sunflowers
The whole world
has pictures, explosions
we hold in our palms
Christine Rhein: Our Corner Acre, April Afternoon
Side by side, we dig in the withered flowerbed,
the sudden warmth, and once again you say, See
how much the light has shifted. I nod my head
at another changing season, our aching knees.
Christine Rhein: The President’s Clothes
the drape made to cover any backside,
the pleats to hide extra-
deep pockets. Of course, you can take it
to the bank.
Christine Rhein: Panic
Because it’s too late now
to sound the alarm
over the lack of alarm,
over the sudden
wealth of it.
Christine Rhein: Alphabetical Order
Assertion by committee:
double-dare ethos.
Fibbed goodwill,
handshakes.
Christine Rhein: A Surgeon Writes from Aleppo
We are running out of coffins.
The city burns, street by street—
even the stones are catching fire.
Our last pediatrician has been killed.
Christine Rhein: Before the Election
The window was open just enough to let in the cool night air. September— like always—the two of us talking, in bed, about the garden, a late flood of tomatoes, … Continue reading
Christine Rhein: Dear Child
from letters written in Texas by detained, immigrant mothers to their sons and daughters (Los Angeles Times, July 10, 2018) I write you these words. I miss you so … Continue reading
Christine Rhein: Letter from Flint to Lansing
I will fix it. — Governor Rick Snyder, State of the State 2016 Come and rock our babies, hold their bottles and their cups. Stop saying you are sorry. … Continue reading
Christine Rhein: Oh 2016,
how gaunt you’ve grown, but then, it’s no surprise, what with all that vanished weight (Bowie, for starters— Sound and Vision) and those workouts we put you through, loading … Continue reading
Vox Populi 