Ultrasound and Skull Tectonics

Two Poems by Christopher Flowers


At six weeks we knew you as little
more than ethereal storm lingering
over pitch ocean. Your eye,
that of a great white-black, eternally
dilated. Pupillary halo
teasing shoreline.

The absence of thunder.

Delivery of your forecast
is cause for inquiry. Have they weathered
the piercing deluge of a full-bodied
tempest? Do they know
what it is to cling-to rely
on an obscure beacon,

elusive cadence on veiled horizon?

Skull Tectonics

You strained, and there was a fleshy
knoll-a crown covered in nimbi
wisps. Hours later, the conclusion
was drawn: pelvic difficulties.

I, shuffling nervously in scrubs
and surgical mask, clenched
(fists, molars, memories) outside
cool-tiled room.

Inside, you shivered, smiled
as I fumbled cameras upon entry,
gawked at the arrival-tributaries
of blood, vigorous towel work,

sudden animation of ashy limbs-
a sharp cry. Measuring, weighing,
counting. The implicit mystery
in something as simple as skull


Poetry by Christopher Flowers has appeared in Main Street Rag, Iodine, Ideomancer, and others. Read his recent poetry posted at the sci-fi E-zine Ideomancer.

Read Tania Pryputniewicz’s interview with Flowers, “The Common Ground of Emotion under Adversity: Witness/Father/Poet Christopher Flowers on ‘Ultrasound’ and ‘Skull Tectonics'”.

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