My name is Christina Small shortened to Chris Small after I moved to Ajijic, Mexico with my husband Jim Small ten years ago.
Our marriage lasted thirty wonderful years—twenty in Marin and Sonoma counties, California. We met at a writer’s workshop in Mill Valley.
When Jim died four years ago, I experienced an awakening.
Rather than plummet
From a broken heart—I soared
Remembering him
That haiku poem I wrote sent me on a journey of transformation. I started writing again.
At age thirty nine, I received a B.A. in Creative Writing from Dominican University in San Rafael— a late bloomer.
I am now on the path of writing a book of Auto Fiction Short Stories.
I think I will keep my name—Chris Small
Cjimchris@aol.com
All about Kisses
What is the proper way to kiss?
When is kissing proper?
How many kisses do you receive in a week?
What does a kiss mean?
What makes kisses different from one another and
how many kinds of kisses are known to man?
Do you kiss your sister the same way you kiss your dog?
Have you any kissing cousins?
What constitutes a good kiss?
Do you return a kiss the way you received a kiss?
Should you kiss a person you’ve just met?
What feelings does a kiss evoke?
Have you ever left a lipstick kiss on the bathroom mirror?
Must we limit kissing to the lips—what about the kneecap?
Can you remember where and when you had your first
French kiss?
Under what circumstance is a kiss appropriate?
Under what circumstance is a kiss inappropriate?
How about kissing under water?
What makes a kiss honest?
Should lovers kiss in public and if not, why?
What about men kissing men?
Do you kiss inanimate objects like a book, for example,
or a good bottle of wine?
Have you ever said, “Let’s kiss and make up”?
Have you ever said, “Kiss my ___”?
Have you ever been to a carnival where men line up
for the kissing booth?
Should a kiss in the morning differ from a kiss in the
evening?
Have you ever tried Eskimo kissing?
Can celibates refrain from dreaming about exotic kissing?
Does blowing a kiss mean that you can’t reach the person?
We’re you ever tempted to kiss the mailman when he
delivered that long-awaited love letter?
Has Covid brought on a shocking decrease in kissing?
*****
Babbling on at Babylon
The Hebrews called it Babel,
The name for the city of Babylon
Where people built that
Tall tower to heaven.
Milton says that God
Came down to Babel
And in derision set
The people’s tongues a split.
He sowed a jangling noise
Of words unknown to them.
A hideous gabble rose
Among the builders loud.
Each to the other called
Not one word understood.
Thus was the building left
And the work Confusion named.
Discombobulated language
Never bothered Voltaire,
When to Catherine the Great
He proudly told,
“Madame, I am utterly unlike
That Lady at Versailles,
Who complained,
“What a dreadful pity that
Awful business at the
Tower of Babel—getting language
All mixed-up, why, but for that
Everyone would always have spoken French!”
Now today, if you talk nonsense
Or senseless prattle
You are said to babble.
Babble from
Middle English, “Babelen”
Which in turn had come
From “ba—ba”.
Whether you twattle or twaddle,
Jibber or jabber
Patter or prattle,
Remember those brave builders
At the Tower of Babel
And ask yourself—
Was it all fiddle faddle?
And next when you find yourself
At the Forest of Arden,
Sitting keen and serene
Along side some calming stream,
Remember that it may not
Just be a veritable
Babbling brook.
But a special place
Where you find—
“Tongues in trees,
Books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones,
And good in Everything!”
*****
Evelyn Reads First
She reads first
Immediately
That’s the way she writes.
Her poem is sharp and short
Skitters across our brain
She’s and ice skater of words.
And we listen
On edge
Without breath.
Shaves of ice
From her frozen lake
Frost out faces.
A refreshment of images
Sheered bold
Like spearmint in Winter.
The blade gliding
Over our veins.
*****
Lanai—Elements from Within
The diversity of trees, Lanai
Crowned by the moisture-held Cooke Pines
The Palms fanning the shore
The towering Eucalyptus pealing naked
And the circus-like Banyan tree—
A side show of tangled bones
Wrestling above ground.
A complexity of clouds, Lanai
Blowing like tumbleweed
Across a sky momentary blue
Until a sudden and swift wind
Umbrellas the island in a haze of fog-white.
A simplicity of color, Lanai
Painted in red, green and blue
The blood-stained soil no rain can wash away
The shifting greens on land sharing
Light of day with dark of night
While blue, the depth of blue, gives water new meaning
And sky a partner with white.
*****
Sleep
I don’t think I’ve seen
Anything more beautiful
(Except when I have and can not remember)
But here, just now
Watching a mama cat
Curled asleep around
Two tiny babies
On the bodega rooftop
In the garden
At dusk
*****
The Nuptial Hour
On Christmas at half past five
Her face
Unavailable to things unfeathered
Sydney, the feline in winter grey
Keeps hidden during the ceremony
Her paws silent as snow.
While Ginger, her opposite
Nestles at ever turn
In a room lit with cozy
Her tail whizzing lineage
Dog eyes gaping wet.
Watching twelve wedding guests
Holding slender white candles
Waiting near the fire
Each sustaining his or her part
The wedding hour about to begin.
The couple’s newest vow honed
Pared down this time, almost smug
Do you Christina, take Jim…
Middle age filling out their torsos
The sharp angles of youth removed
Their eyes drinking minutes.
The groom’s daughter enters
Mollie—eighteen
Singing to her father, “The Water is Wide”
And to the new woman
Though never to be her daughter
Perhaps a friend.
*****
Love
“The sweetest flower when first it’s new”
The drift of voice purling
Even the Christmas tree overburden
Glare-eyed with ornaments
Seems to listen.
Finally, the room becomes a circle
A circle of faces, of arms
The nuptial hour over
The cat emerges
Stealthily.
*****
Ah—the Joy of Inanimate Objects—When…
I find my lost keys
I hug his sweater
I hold a spoon
I open a book
I turn on a switch
I visit her grave
I hair-brush my cat
I kiss a photo
Sharpen a knife
Drink from a cup
Paint with brushes
Rinse the dishes
Take off my bra
Fluff a pillow
Sip champagne
Lather with soap
Read under a lamp
Start the engine
Write at my desk
Wait for a cab
Throw a doggie ball
And finally—one of my favorites—speak into a mike
*****
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After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
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