Poetry

I Have My Mother’s (A Belated Mother’s Day Poem)

/ Katie / 8 Comments

I have my mother’s eyes.
I have her temper, too,
and her stubborn streak.
(Just ask my dad.)
I have her joy in reading –
not from inheritance, but habit –
and, I hope, also, her kindness.
My mother taught me to laugh,
and grace and patience.
And she gave me part of herself:
years of time,
of being together,
of lessons,
of hugs and of presents,
and of watching her wild child grow.
She gave a million little moments
to build me up.
I have my mother’s heart,
a lifetime’s worth of love,
the greatest treasure.
And she has mine.

More (A Poem)

/ Katie / 6 Comments

This we know
deep down
in our bones and blood.
Even buried under our worst moments,
tucked into the corners
of our own lives,
we know it:
We are made for more
than work
and worry.

Memories of School Picture Day(s) (A Poem)

/ Katie / 14 Comments

“Smile,” they said,
and I did,
crooked.
“Your eyes are closed.”
Unsurprising.
“We’ll try again,” they offered,
which was kind
all things considered,
especially the line that day.
What can I say?
I’ve never been what they call
photogenic.
I’m good with it.
I hear a picture’s worth a thousand words,
and well,
pictures of me
will certainly
get you talking.

The Garden Path (A Poem)

/ Katie / 8 Comments

There’s something magic,

isn’t there,

about a garden path in spring?

Always worth the following,

I think,

if only to see where it leads.

Or even just the slant of the light

along the way,

just right to make

the everyday

extraordinary,

and the ordinary

enchanting.

Ode to Beer (A Poem for National Beer Day)

/ Katie / 13 Comments

Did you know there’s a National Beer Day? I didn’t, but I do now. And yes, of course I’m celebrating. Here’s a silly poem to prove it.

For you, O Mighty Brew,
libation of
fierce warriors
and
humble monks
alike,
we celebrate this day.

Quencher, and friend,
foe, and consoler,
partner in pleasure,
in sadness,
and (sometimes, perhaps) in crime
(we won’t speak of that now…),
you are a time in yourself,
a moment of fizzy bliss,
of foamy joy.

You, Oh Ancient Potion,
are powerful, potable,
volatile magic.
You make us brave
(but foolish).
You make us wise
(for a while).

To you, I tip my hat.
And then drop it.
Thanks for that.

Bones (A Poem)

/ Katie / 15 Comments

I carry it with me,
this bag of bones,
of broken down building blocks.
These I have gathered,
these moldering bits of a million little memories,
times and places and people,
thousands over the course of a life,
tucked away for safekeeping.
It drags behind me,
clatters and clacks in a diabolical cacophony.
Always I carry this calcified collection,
but only a few can see,
and those few know the weight of it themselves.
They carry their own
bones in sacks, dangling from weary hands.
Why is not the question.
It is when.
When to open it?
And which.
Which to choose?
And how.
How to fit that one fragile bit into the puzzle just so.
Oh yes,
the burden is heavy,
and every day it grows.
But for those who carry the bags,
curate the bones and create new skeletons,
there is no greater treasure.