the Poet Laureate of Dedham, MA, Christopher Reilley is a long time
prepress tech, print geek and former self publisher, now a father and
He describes himself as a conglomeration of everything he has ever
done, seen, felt, caused, experienced, observed and survived.
He has held many jobs in his life, from working in restaurants for
over twenty years - both in front and in back of the house - to being
a freelance illustrator and designer, a print expert, a computer help
technician, a door to door salesman, an on-air television face,
producer, sign maker, delivery truck driver, stand up comic, and donut
maker, but his favorite job is being a father to his two lovely
daughters and his son.
He is fiscally conservative and socially liberal, a collector of both
masks and comic books, and has recently returned to painting as a
serious endeavor. He does all the cooking in his house, has acted in
community and regional theater, and knows all the words to "If I Only
Had a Brain". And yes, it is true, he did graduate from clown college
Once upon a time, Christopher developed the Book in Time
print-on-demand work flow for Xerox, which eventually became the
default system for Bertelsmann, the largest book printer in the world.
He is currently preparing a full length manuscript of love and passion
poems for publication next spring, entitled "Slippery Friction".
be found on his own Facebook page Poetry
of Reilly, or
fronting the Facebook page of the Dedham
FORMAL ABSENCE OF PRECIOUS THINGS
drowned for three decades
steps fresh as creation
the broken glass doors.
then I remember, in that instant
she is dead, and I am not,
is another century, so
must be another girl,
newly minted stranger,
with whom I will never speak.
am awash in emotion -
a very particular awareness
my own duration.
see a beggar leaning against
jewlery store facade,
head pressed against the windows.
those windows are small, empty pedestals,
absences of precious things
locked away for the night.
legs wrapped in brown paper
knight crafted from office materials.
is the color of pavement,
very race in question,
when he looks up at me
own eyes peer out from his tangle of curls.
girl who drowned so very long ago
down to my mind’s bottom,
down in a swirl of toffee hair
less hurtful memories
where my youth turns gently
its accustomed tides,
I am more comfortable that way.