Poetry by Kirby Wright

Tiki Gods and the Antherium Garden

The cottage floor fuses
Linoleum with lauhala.
Tiki gods serve as
The bodies of lamps—

They smile with fangs
Under the shades.
Father sits at the coffee table,
His fingers vibrating

A spoonful of cereal.
Here is a balancing act
Learned as a toddler.
Outside, the weed whacker

Whacks the sour grass.
A cat cries from behind the cottage;
She thinks we’re the family
Who spoiled her last August.

Father pretends
He’s a guest in his rental.
He disturbs paradise
Complaining to the caretaker

About the dark TV, termite sand
On the counter, overgrown trees.
His voice corrupts
The pink and red blossoms

In the antherium garden.
Father has become a ghost,
His skin thin and nearly translucent.
The Tiki gods widen their smiles.

Chasing the Moon

It’s raining again,
Even raining out at sea.

The seasons are confused.
Winter knew only drought.

Spring brought the weeds.
Even the weathermen wonder

If it’s really summer.
The sun’s chasing the clouds

And the clouds
Are chasing the sun.

Light chases dark.
Dark chases light.

Everything’s taking turns
Being chased

And then
Chasing everything else.

The moon chased me
In the back seat

Of my father’s Olds.
Now I wait for the moon

To rise in the twilight
To chase it for words.

About the Author

Kirby Wright was born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii. He is a graduate of Punahou School in Honolulu and the University of California at San Diego. He received his MFA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Kirby was nominated for the Pushcart Prize and is a past recipient of the Anne Fields Poetry Prize, the Academy of American Poets
Award, the Browning Society Award for Dramatic Monologue, and Arts Council Silicon Valley Fellowships in Poetry and The Novel. His first book of poetry is forthcoming from Lemon Shark Press.