Touch of Grace
Poetry
Craig Nielson
$12.00
About the Author
Craig Nielson grew up in Utah and from there traveled the wild places of the American West. He is the host of P3: Poetry, Prose, and Performance, a performance poetry event, host of Radio Poet, a live radio program, and an organizer of the SPARROWS Performance Poetry Festival. He lives in Salida, Colorado with his son, Joshua, and his stray dog, Red.
Blurbs
These are fine poems! They are about being challenged by life, by relationships, by the dark culture surrounding us that daily threatens to suck the last tiny light out of our bodies. But even in the midst of this, these poems are also about rediscovering light, finding grace in decay, in weathered barns, in driveways, in the faint smell of a waitress from Michigan. —James Tipton, winner of the 1999 Colorado Book Award for Letters from a Stranger
Touch of Grace is Craig Nielson’s vision quest…his spiritual journey from darkness to light.—David Lee, 2001 Poet Laureate of Utah and author of So Quietly the Earth
This book opens out, like a bird’s wings seeking lift—that’s the only way to describe the experience of reading these poems. You’ll smell soil, snow, sagebrush, and river bottom.”—Chris Ransick, author of Lost Songs and Last Chances, A Return to Emptiness, Denver Poet Laureate
Craig Nielson lets his life speak—honestly and with plenty of passion. He’s not afraid to be angry, he’s not afraid to be vulnerable, and he’s not afraid to explore the topography of love. These poems map out the territories that reflect his Western roots. He celebrates empty two-lanes, favorite trails, and wild places. And he gives thanks for the moments of grace he finds there.”—Peter Anderson, author of First Church of the Higher Elevations
MY TOWN
Times I think this old town
will dry up and blow away,
that the winter storms
that gather over Methodist
and crowd the shoulders of Shavano
might just spell the end.My neighbor, five houses down,
came here in ‘52, and is now 82
and has spent the summer battling
the roots of an old, stubborn elm
and the town that made him pay
for a new sidewalk.
My neighbor to the east is 99 and still drives.
Doesn’t see so well and damn near
cleaved the side off my Volkswagen
at the corner post office.
Two more businesses on F Street have signs up:
“Going-out-of-business sale.”
The clothing shop that left a gaping void
in the corner store when it moved across the street
is one of them.
My dear friend has bad plumbing,
bad eyes, and works four jobs
just so she can be an artist―
just so she can be one month behind on the mortgage
of a house she does not like.
Me, I love this little town.
I love that it still has the bark left on,
that real people still live here,
that real people always struggle,
that folks know your name
and trust you enough
when you forget your checkbook.
