Katherine's Coffeehouse

This is my postcard to me and you. You are good. Not just good enough. Not okay,

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, […]

My homeland speaks in tongues. Gone too far to roll back vein and gristle.

Day seven, warm rains still come, speckled deer restless and asking to nurse,

We hadn’t known she could scream. Glass shattering wail through slats of a muzzle, two techs holding her down,

Or I could write about white-tailed doe, baby of the family still trying to suckle,

I stumble into it, on it, living room jumbled, Lego under my foot— dark because someone actually turned off the lights.

Seventeen days. That's when I will have told him I'd schedule the doctor. It's a goal.

And if you ask me what it is to age, I will tell you what I heard from snapdragon,

Once, I killed a fish. More than once, if you count the 22 goldfish I accidentally overfed before the ick took over,