Chris G. Vaillancourt

Outside World and Freedom

Wind sighs in the fragile

beginning of day. Children

still asleep in the teddy bear

comfort of their dreams.

Somewhere a dog intones

its morning song. Voice

mournfully howling at

the indignity of its captivity.

Outside world harshly

coming to awareness, cars

rattling on the outside street.

Soon the children will wake.

Demand the business of

their lives as they prepare

to go to school. We'll do

the routine together and I'll

wait patiently for them to

flee the nest. When they are

gone I'll draw the blinds

and lock the doors. Drop

all my clothing as if it were

all the pretenses I owned.

Freedom begins in being able

to attack the world with

my retreat.

Tiny Apple

A tiny apple in the tree.

Our straining eyes could just

about make it out in the branches.

I think we enjoyed the thought that something

was smaller than us. It hung deep red

with a sliver of sun shimmering off its surface.

Each of us felt the apple was ours alone.

Each of us pretended an exclusive affinity

with the tiny apple in the tree.

It was our special secret which we would cherish

as if it was the most significant memory of our lives.

Our collective breath sighing in fruitful pleasure

at what surely would be a delicious bite.

This was the term that separated us.

Half of us wanted to gaze in admiration

at the apple forever.

The other half was planning on

how to eat it.

Chris G. Vaillancourt © 2009

A Certain Surrender

In my understanding

of this hemisphere,

I sense a certain


Teardrops wanting

to fall but there is

no truth to them.

Indeed, they will be lies;

a disguise

meant only to deceive.

In this graveyard

it is silent and hollow.

Wounds wanting to heal

but the blood will not stop.

Yes, the innocence of youth

is dripping onto the floor.

The inner slum

of industrial filth

is seeping into my heart.

Trashing it; digesting its

virtue and

leaving a shell behind.

I become a zombie

and feel no


for improvement.

Yes, it is colder now

and I will sleep.

When next I awake.

I'll be different,

having emptied my

soul of all its charms.

In my acceptance of


I sense a certain surrender.

Chris G. Vaillancourt © 2009