| Border Crossing Cows come first, their shadows creating long fingers across the road. Cars follow, hooting rattling bells and a couple of shepherds who give us a look as guards raise eyebrows at the jumbled letters etched like cold metal on our documents. We are strangers here, in that place where stars end and the long road to purgatory begins. ©Christian Ward 2007 |
| Madame Brecht The room inside of me is sparsely furnished. A coil of rope sits atop an antique pine dresser, watching my rocking chair rock to and fro. Plucked daisies sit in a windowsill vase overlooking an empty lake. Whenever you are nearby, I feel my breath untying a row boat moored outside. I see its rope letting go, its sound echoing in the real world. ©Christian Ward 2007 |
| The Sea Walking down the street, I empty my pockets of the sea I was looking after for you. Mussels come tumbling first, cracking open their castanet shells on the pavement. Acres of seaweed and oysters. Taking a deep breath, I pour an ocean into the middle of the road. Islands of people and cars bob in the newly created sea. Somewhere amongst this is an old trawler. You are inside, sending signals back to a lighthouse forgotten in a trouser pocket. ©Christian Ward 2007 |
