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Alyson Kissner

Third Prize: 2010 Novice Christian Poetry Contest $200

About this Christian Poet:
Alyson Kissner is currently a seventeen-year-old and completing her last year of high school. Apart from also receiving an honorable mention in last year's Novice Christian Poetry Competition, she has gone on to win the top overall prize for high school student writers at the 2009 Vancouver International Writers Festival, in British Columbia. She has also claimed first prize in the youth category for her poem, "The Lyre", in The Tapestry of Bronze. These achievements have been featured in both print and online articles. This year, she was awarded with the English Department award out of her grade of four-hundred.  

Dye Testaments (in war)

Last night I had a dream
where the world had lost its colour

and everything was red.

The sky red
You red
I red
a book
about a man who walked on—
parted
all water, red
The sea, red, from labour pains
Where we evolved from its belly,
Clawed out
sticky
First as fish, swimming into
     monkeys, ascending to be
         sinners, falling down like
             fathers, back when they were
                           sons, trying to be
                                                      teachers, who were
lovers fled
God.

We are powerful, with our red hands and red feet.
Red fingers, with Indian war paint
smearing our red skin
Red.

We ride forward on cherry stallions. Muscles tight, as little warriors with our red weapons held high,
Refracting off pieces of pomegranate sun: seeds spat through—vomited through weaknesses in the red branches—Space between red leaves

in the winter

I have decided to become a monster

of sophistication and skill
in disposing of you,
red,
your guts, squishing puss beneath
     boots, sunspot worn just like
          my mother, making cookies on a
               coffin, a stigmata of our
                         victory, spitting cries out like a
                                                    child, broken bones pointing out
Heaven belongs to
Us.

I can smell the blood on your breath. Or is it the alcohol?
Drank a toast of nuclear glue:
jellied gasoline through a vacuum tube.
Swirling next to the fire.
Red.
Dancing gluttonous shadows over what remains of you:
All teeth—Half your face chewed off,
between the two of us.

I sit next to you and contemplate botany,
and astronomy,
and twilight
where there were once stars
that guided sailors, trying to
     shepherd, lost and a
          lonely girl, wondering about
               philosophers, with their minds like
                         musicians, assigning songs to
                                                    runaways, who used to be
pretend princesses nestled and
Safe.

in the crooks of ethic mothers' necks: Wishing on them. All in the shapes of circles, infinite,
Apart.
Whereas now they are
bleeding into each other
like crimson candle wax
or the battle wound I will die from
tomorrow,

perhaps

Copyright ©2010 by Alyson Kissner