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Falling

Teasing flame to glass, spinning
the stem between dirty tips of fingers.
Selfish again, to those with expectations.

Barely above the skin, as cold bones
etch their structure through the surface.

Alone in preference. Exhausted by
stepping on hearts
stepping through hearts.

Yesterday, I saw my reflection in a glass bowl, the distortion studied me.

Today, I saw a reflection in the mirror, a figure with hollow eyes. Who is this?
Fear briefly appeared.

Without permission, the wind bullied its way through a crack in the window.

The intrusion carelessly blew a post-it note to the floor. Have a nice day! A sweet yet bitter
reminder of someone I once cared about. I let it
where it settled, understanding it would be too heavy to lift.

A photo of my father and I posing with a couple Chinook salmon, remained
magneted to the face of the refrigerator.  My eyes burned in sadness
in shame.

The pain was aggressive. I did not want to e attached to any of it.

I retreated to a closet that did not quite hang right.  The rollers off the rail;
everything was mocking me.

I fetaled in the corner of my filth and under flame, spun the glass again. Burdens
hung in an exhaled cloud just long enough to conceive them.

Contemplation held me slenderly as I realized the deep recess I was in. I was still falling. I did not
brace for impact.

Wanting to be altered, nevertheless, or no amount of substance would
separate me from my anguish.  I am meeting myself in the
dark.

In a canyon, even a falling rock has a voice echoing its tragedy.

                 Tristan,  Fall 2019


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Introducing a New Writer -- Tristan

Tristan is the pen name of a young writer from the Oregon Coast.  A fisherman and a poet, he writes from the perspective of a new deeply involved wordsmith, in expressing himself through the written word, and enriching his soul.  He wants to share his journey with you, and to share his creativity and his words with you.

In Tristan's life, there have been crises, struggles, and challenges.  His courage and his character to deal with life's obstacles is reflected in his writing.

"I want my work to flow like a wild river, carving its own path.  The river is sometimes inhibited by dams that suspend the natural flow of something. I want people to feel something, feel uncomfortable, feel sad, hurt, broken, happy, but just feel."

Tristan's poems have been published in "The Echo" newsletter and Honoring Our Rivers (2018), an anthology of writing by inmates of the Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution, in Pendleton, Oregon.

The Raven and the Sailor

The cottonwood and the hemlock trees
mingle in the lower pastures
Standing high by riverside
eyeing the flood of love's disasters.

To where I follow a raven's fate
who scouts in pallid skies
for mate designed for only he
if knowest tears he'd cry.

Toward western skies in askance flies
the raven with dirge on his heart
His sorry I borrow like it's
my tomorrow
A burden of grief in cart.

The river a path that has
come to a crash
with vastness so large evokes
shivers
With nothing to follow his
heart has been swallowed
How will he spot a lost
love's quivers?

When darkness falls his longing
still calls and body implores him rest
But sleep won't come
Until he's undone
Bound to an eternal quest.

Just before the dawn awakes
I set for bountied seas
The raven perched upon the stern
of my ocean faring steed.

Beyond the port between the jetties
across the bar we flee
New mates akin by broken hearts
He with I and I with he.

Briskly arriving a smile on the day
pouncing to…