Jan Chronister

Jan Chronister lives and writes in the wood near Maple, Wisconsin. She currently serves as president of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets.

Her chapbook 'Target Practice' was published in 2009 at the University of Wisconsin. Her full-length collection of poems, Caught between Coasts, (published by Clover Valley Press, fall 2018) was recognized as an Outstanding Poetry book for 2019 by the Wisconsin Library Association.

For more information, visit www.janchronisterpoetry.wordpress.com

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► Jan's microchaps & selected poems are available below.

Origami Microchap

Before They Closed the Temple

of Kukulkan

Click title to save, download & print microchap

Jan Chronister CVR Before They Closed The Temple of Kukulkan NOV 2019

Cover collage by Jan K

Rabbit in the Moon

I avoid calendars, avert
my eyes from confining squares
that force my life
into compartments,
blocks of time filed away
behind me like sidewalks.

Each month turns over, days
crossed off as if they
never were,
always looking ahead
peeking at weekends
planning my escape.

I think I’ll follow the Maya,
three circles moving together
inner gears of a clock,
each day flowing into the next
illuminated not by a moon man
but a long-eared rabbit scribe.

Cenote at Chichen Itza

I stand on the edge
in too bright sun,
at my feet is a
metallic green deep
where sacrifices pushed
by priests appeased the gods.

Centuries later
the well is dredged,
gives up jade, flint,
fragments of bone.

I jump because I want to,
wonder if someday
another civilization will
understand my story.

From Seed

Jan Chronister CVR From Seed

Cover collage by Jan Keough

Natural Order

Words march across the page
in Times New Roman 12
address me in second person
use contractions
run on without commas.

Outside the flowers are at ease
between bulb and tuber,
tulips fade
wait for lily and iris
to take command.

I’m following orders
trying to close the door
on school. The garden
declares its independence
and blooms whether I’m there or not.

●

Today
(after Billy Collins)

The grass wakes up,
a moving blanket of green.
First daffodil shines.
Today that feeling presses
on my chest.
I take deep breaths
wait for Iris, Lily,
Persephone
To return from
the hell of winter.