There Are Days
And then, there are days when the world tears itself apart. Or maybe it’s just my heart. #KatherinesCoffeehouse
Katherine’s Coffeehouse
Teacher
Living as a poet is hard. See, the teacher is always changing, not just when September comes, but every moment the temperature drops, or the rain does the same. That moment you started to sweat? Or turn on the bathroom tap? Or revel in a short shower? Or cry? Those things, they make the coloring
Heading Up
Do we all get where we’re headed? I’d like to believe I do. I’ve held a cold hand or two, rubbed a few backs, running my fingers, lightly, from illness’s base up to where it all ends. See, it’s a paradox. We come out top to bottom, but mortality begins at the foundation, works its
New Book Coming
It’s hard to believe only last year Bury My Under a Lilac was released, and I’m already ready to release another poetry collection. But when you write for a year at least once per week and you take the time to go back and edit, it might be time to think about publishing – again.
In Store
On course for spring, we run into frigidity, a storefront of lingering winter. See how we crash through the front window, streaking across the icy foyer, skidding our way to the stockroom, knocking down half-displays of navy capris and white t-shirts. They were just about to unpack the short-shorts, too. Too bad. #KatherinesCoffeehouse
Monday Unhanded
This Monday morning, pear blossoms tumbling with the wind, white cloud grounded, blue sky clapping with one hand. Well done. #KatherinesCoffeehouse #PoemsAroundTown See this poem live at Imagine.
Passage
Never turn back, they say. But my back takes the stone barrage, bleeding faster than gossip, bruising like a damaged fig. What am I, some biblical scapegoat? Bring your bitterness to the Jordan. Drown it. See if you survive. #KatherinesCoffeehouse
Cubano
To write poetry, you must untrain your brain, forget the rigidities of relationships. Where is the mug of Cuban coffee you made me a moment ago? Here, in the sunlight, keeping it warm. I’d like to stay here. Here. Sip it. #KatherinesCoffeehouse #PoemsAroundTown See this poem at Grounds Central Station.
Monitor
All screens switch. Not momentarily – any milli-moment. Count them in fractions. One-one hundredth. Two. Dissolved into some vague animation where a single slide begets another, crumbled pixels, the one before lost in the attention span of a short-sighted user. What matters is the next page, yes? What happens is the following, when nothing we
Sail
When in the throws of spring I remove my top in public, will you sail quickly, back towards conventional wind? More importantly— will you bail me out? #KatherinesCoffeehouse