Frontier by Nicholas Kriefall
Mostly False Statements from My Imaginary Biography
A voracious reader, by ten
he had devoured the great works
of Hugo, Zola, and Flaubert
in French, so he turned
to the Russians. At eleven he despaired
of literature and devoted himself
to science. Life became a problem
of mathematics. Like Pythagoras
he eschewed beans. He feasted
on fruit from the orchard –
bananas, mangoes. Iguanas
fell from trees. Why are you
here? he asked. He divided
his time between the East Village
and LA’s punk scene as the sun
beat down on the Pampas. It was
a miracle! Nor did he deny himself
the sensual pleasures. He slept
with Howie, too, why not? The irony
was not lost on him. In the end
it was the trip to the Galapagos
that changed everything. Of course
these were no heptapods. Thus
a new chapter in his life began.
*Previously published in Red Flag Poetry
Duolingo
Gli uomini scrivono nello zucchero:
The men write in sugar.
Why do the men write in sugar?
I see them
in the dark kitchen –
four men in stiff chairs
around an old wood table.
They are dressed for a journey.
The sugar is a mountain on the table.
One spreads the sugar with his hand.
He sketches a rough map with his finger.
Another nods and erases the map.
He writes a message. It is,
of course, a secret.
Where are the women?
The men smooth the sugar, their hands
briefly touching. Imagine
the feel of the sugar.
Il ragazzo dorme nel stanza oscurata.
*Previously published in Crosswinds Poetry Journal
The Bird Feeder
It hangs there on a string, a house with windows,
brown and still. Something to look at – your words,
though they’re true for me today. A dead rose
in a door – this attracts the hummingbirds.
White dots of light scatter in the woods. All day
you look out, reel off names as you squint your eyes:
sparrow, cardinal, sparrow, blue jay.
Mom and I nod, say yes, hover close by.
Last night, like a chill: Find someone soon,
you said. You’ll wonder where your chances went.
We were reading, we were in the living room;
I thought even, even this: We are content –
Too many birds now. A cry, and wings unfurl.
The perch tilts, and the opening for food inches
to a close. This is meant to ward off squirrels.
Finches. I can hear you say it. Male finches.
*Previously published in PageBoy Magazine
Thief
Black wing-
tips, yours, mine
now. Two crows
curled, concealing
tongues. Waxy
laces worm
through eyelets. I
lift them from
their nest. My
gold toes offer
brief life.
*Previously published in Tipton Poetry Journal
About the author:
Bill Hollands’ work has been featured on The Slowdown podcast and in such journals as DIAGRAM, The Adroit Journal, The Greensboro Review, New Ohio Review, North American Review, Poetry Northwest, Plume, and Boulevard. His debut collection Mangrove (ELJ Editions) will be published in 2025. He lives in Seattle with his husband and their son.
Twitter/X @bill_hollands
In the artist’s words:
Nicholas Kriefall. A native to the Midwest, I have always been drawn to nature, be it the sea that stemmed from childhood trips to the coast and a young introduction to snorkeling, or the rock formations out west during summer excursions. Along with learning about Hemingway through my father, his tale of an old man battling elements beyond him, and the fact that we know more about foreign worlds than our own, the encompassing truth and mystery of our planet’s identity has ever fascinated me. My current collection deals with the relationship between us and the key elements of nature, whether hostile or dependent, and the delicate balance of one’s need for the other. Using colors, shapes, and texture over multiple layers, I explore the comfort and animosity of a place revisited or newly imagined, continuously experimenting with visual depth, and incorporating a certain emotion as a map spills from mind to the canvas.
My work has won numerous awards, been featured on HGTV, and represented by notable galleries in New York, Atlanta, Ft Lauderdale, Chicago, Kansas City, and St. Louis, where I currently reside.