in winterkilled
grass you find an arrowhead
your knees locked on dirt
saying look what I found.
tonight the planet leans toward its star.
if I listen better
I’ll hear you, each time
your head turns, expectations,
moonlight washing bare
the sidewalk, lawns, roofs
on the briefest day/longest night
of the year. straightening elbows
you smooth away the dirt
holding the arrowhead to the palm
like a consequence
a great secret half-forgotten.
we start home moving slowly
and in sleep return
to a dream assembly of questions
an unfinished calling
and an open window.
Cristiana Baik is a poet residing and working in Oakland. Her work is published or forthcoming in Dusie, TYPO, American Letters & Commentary, The Conversant, and Drunken Boat, among other publications. Her short collection of poems, entitled The Stars Went Out and So Did the Moon, will be released by Finishing Line in 2017. She will also be working on an experimental essay with her twin sister, Crystal Baik, on their grandfather, who was a poet and scholar. The chapbook will be published by Essay Press in spring 2017. 
