Metaphor for 2024
They should never have planted that tree
so close to the old foundation.
Katherine’s Coffeehouse
Micro for Dolly
they tell me my dog has rare lymphoma.she lies on the bed in my office,listens to cello music. sheloves the cello. dammit, she loves the cello.__________________________________________________Copyright Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, November 22, 2024, all rights reserved*Author’s note – Dolly is 11 and probably only has a couple of months to live. We’re giving her palliative care
Because Everything is Metaphor
I am watching my farm dog
limp and
trip
on stairs,
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Alt Serenity Prayer
I am working on being more intentional, directlyasking the day’s nimbus for its vascular biceps,afternoon for its ability—no, serenity—to sleep a spell in the slant of what morning leftbehind. And then, the gloam, courage to leaveremains in hands more careful and capablethan my own. Or perhaps it is more directed, closer to the shut-eyed affirmationsI
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Because I Have Four Tattoos and Want More
Everyone has a tattoo—
or two, or three,
skin and bank the limit.
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This Is My Postcard to Me and You
This is my postcard to me and you.
You are good. Not just
good enough. Not okay,
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We are not immortal, and neither is this poem
After a while,I am tired of trees.Not the woody-armed entity,bigmouthed and knotty nosed,that watches over our home.Not the longstanding gatheringof trunk and twig, thick skinned,evocatively named: Sycamore.Black walnut. River birch.Red maple. Not the resolutecedar, meditative, still, impermeable, apotheosis having long beencompleted. They are actualized,the Holy of Holies, fabled and tangibly ancient. Unlike we,awaiting our turn,
We are not immortal, and neither is this poem Read More »
My homeland speaks in tongues
My homeland speaks
in tongues. Gone too far
to roll back vein and gristle.
My homeland speaks in tongues Read More »
Day Seven, October 1st
Day seven,
warm rains still come,
speckled deer restless
and asking to nurse,
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