Michael Chitwood Poems
|1.||At The Wilco With Some Founding Fathers||6/25/2014|
|7.||Here I Am, Lord||6/25/2014|
|8.||Men Throwing Bricks||6/25/2014|
|9.||Morning And Evening||6/25/2014|
|10.||Morning Walk, Holden Beach||6/25/2014|
|12.||River Bend Subdivision||6/25/2014|
|14.||Take Comfort Where You Can||6/25/2014|
|19.||The One Day||6/25/2014|
Comments about Michael Chitwood
Even two years later, she still gets correspondence
addressed to him. Correspondence. This like that.
Mostly about his hobby. Coin collector brochures.
Announcements of collector swap meets. His pastime.
A way to spend an afternoon back when an afternoon
needed spending. Before all the silence flooded the house.
He had old currency. Nickels worth ten dollars.
And heavy, the bags. Musical, too.
She needs to sort through them all.
That's what she should do, realize its value.
But what she is thinking of is spending it,
buying gum and soft ...
Two days into the flood
they appear, moored against
a roof eave or bobbing caught
in the crowns of drowned trees.
Like fancy life boats
from an adventurer's flag ship,
brass plating and grips,
walnut sheen, scroll work,
they slip through the understory