Poetry
Kristina Spear

Photo Credit: Joriel Jimenez/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

You have nine billion names for God
written on each freckle
etched on each blemish of my skin.
A billion stars Arthur Clarke
would blot out.

Last night, again
the lines for a poem.
The nature of which
I cannot recall.

Possibly it was
your beard itching my lips
or the drop in my gut
as we hit that hill
going only fifty.

Perhaps it was
something else
entirely.

The way my feet can relax
on foreign sands
or my living among
absent strangers
as I comb their lives intimately,
eat from their utensils,
scent my hair with their soap.

Whatever poem
was asking to be writ
is buried beneath a night’s
dreams of
boxer dogs
Chicago
and the call of the stars.

Kristina Spear is a poet residing in Washington State. She enjoys cats, coffee and a number of other things. You can contact her at Kristina.e.spear[at]gmail.com.