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 […]
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
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.
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
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.
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
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
For everyone missing their mother, I offer you a memory of mine: She hugged strangers, invited the lonely to dinner in her own home, fed everyone too much turkey and ravioli. Sometimes canned ham, too. And she always mailed us Easter baskets, even when we were grown. All that cheap chocolate, wrapped up in too
Tonight, peepers pepper the air, thick with the sauce of spring, a dinner of biscuits and decaf coffee, reverse breakfast, southern flavor that somehow edged its way north. No complaining. It all ends up in the same place, that feeling of fullness that promises an early snooze. Enjoy. Be lazy awhile. Tomorrow marks Monday. There’ll
What if on Bring Your Kids to Work Day I brought my books? What if I sat them next to me on an a wheeled office chair, facing me cover first, my nom de plume on them, their birth mother, their title their given name, copyright their birthday, page numbers their weight, ISBN their social,
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