Chris Anderson Verse-Virtual 2017 May

May 2017

I live with my two dogs on the edge of the university research forest, where I walk everyday and think and pray. I have taught at Oregon State University since 1986 and have been a Catholic deacon since 1987. I have written a number of books, including two books of poetry. My second book of poems, THE NEXT THING ALWAYS BELONGS, was published in 2011 by Airlie Press. For more, see www.deaconchrisanderson.com.

Meteor

That night you came over to cook me dinner
you wore a poodle skirt.

I lived in the desert, then, in a cinderblock house.

I was a scientist,
patches on the elbows of my rumpled tweed.

The night was cool and clear,
and we went out on the patio to look at the stars,
and looking up, you said,
I’ve never seen the moon shaped like an egg,

when a giant meteor
came flaming over the ridge
and slammed into the earth,
plowing a long, glassy furrow.

The ground rippled out in waves,
and for a moment there wasn’t any sound,
and then all the Fiestaware
in the kitchen started to rattle,
bouncing up and down in its rickety racks.

The cinderblock began to glow.

Ephphatha! Jesus whispered: Be opened!

And I was.

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