Katherine's Coffeehouse

I've decided it's a birdcall, not the Canada goose I will be in the life I live after my next, more like the mourning dove,

We aren't much to look at, we poets, unless you look very closely, which most aren't wont to do. It's […]

They say the hands will do what the heart has felt. Not knowing who they are (might be indigenous wisdom […]

More short pieces from January.

January haiku from writing prompts

Annual NEW YEAR GALA at McCall Studio Gallery Celebrate New Year’s 2024 together in Manassas! Reserve your tickets now for […]

By Katherine M. Gotthardt Last night I dreamt again you appeared, thin and limping after what I could have sworn was your final parting, last heavy sigh and whimper, all of us laying hands on your haunches, private room with wordless music, pet pictures, candles. And as always

Entering older years, I now understand how my words have become less visible.

The ladies in the senior center craft room Complain about their aging husbands: “He never this …” and “He always that …”

Some poems I've posted on Threads. Let's connect there.