Oct. 24, 2022
Audio
Little Earth
By Christoper Phelps
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Little Earth
By Christopher Phelps
The weeds flowered at me
and the flaky rock was so right
to the touch, I didn’t miss a geode.
A little earth to patch
whatever it is I may lack
(I'm trying not to say
we for me, or you for I)—
I woke up the other morning
unawry, remembering that
the trick in intricate
is not a trick but real
as the texture of the world
with the word as it was, left alone
and picked up, each at once.
Christopher Phelps
Christopher Phelps (he/him) is a queer, neurodivergent poet. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico where he teaches math, creative problem-solving, and letteral arts. Christopher can get lost in his own neighborhood, following or leading street cats that have touched their tails to him. He is searching for others who love poetry that is equal parts vulnerable and subversive communication. His poems have appeared in periodicals including Beloit Poetry Journal, Palette Poetry, Poetry Magazine, and The Nation. His first full-length book manuscript, Salve Age, is also afoot and questing for a publisher. Christopher can be found at christopher-phelps.com
Image description: A roan-stubbled and lightly freckled man with short brown hair is dressed in a white shirt and appears as a reflection in a square, black-framed maze that is hanging on a stucco-textured wall. He is looking toward the maze, but the details of his face are mostly obscured by it. The maze itself is detailed and cyan on a dark background with a green path illustrating a possible, circuitous route from the interior to one edge.