Kat - Hello Poetry

Kat Apr 2019

this humdrum summer.
i knew you as someone
who was never anywhere for too long,
sorta bohème so to speak.
so maybe now you are back in montréal.
how naive to believe space & time will grant you mercy.
i envy you for that arrogance.

the here and now sits on my memories like dust.

would it have changed anything –

never mind.

days in parks & forests & meadows. the honey bees were busy then.
we roamed through every supermarket like it was a ******* carnival.
and love,
it was the joy being each others witness.
this fever dream that is the mundane now.

if there was a way to look at you,
beyond a lens of reminiscence,
beyond the script of hurt.

this humdrum summer.

they say TIME HEALS EVERYTHING and i smile.
i don't feel the warmth of the sun anymore
but how could i forget that it touched me.

obviously i remember.

#love #heartbreak #breakup

Apr 2019

Rohan P

of dialogue

I abscond from
the phone calls where her
voice reminds me of her.
She's mumbling of the brittleness
of the east Cascades;
memory can't but etch, line to line,
some sore straightliner, wheeled.

I'll still playback what you leave me,
and harbor beneath the arches of ourselves.
Penny for the poor: I never promised to pay
this sum.

Kat Feb 2019

Kate's Toy Airplane (2018)

Time travel to Dallas days. We were sitting in your Acura Legend. Your face veiled, my eyes watery from the smoke, I know I hate tobacco now.
"Tom, teach me how to write poems, like yours."
"Okay but tell me first, Katie.
What are you running away from?"

We were close to home,
just sound without meaning,
a kid’s drawing on the refrigerator.
So the answer never differs:
I’m not running away, I’m running towards.

I don't remember, do you,
when poetry turned into dictionaries of devotion.
It was the language of tenderness you taught me,
my extinct mother tongue.
To love the ordinary was suddenly easy.

Those memories
the warmth of you
make it hard to imagine
that you are buried
somewhere in Iowa.

Here, read my dictionaries now:
page after page,
in hundred variations:
„Please come back to me“
and
„I will always long to bargain your soul for mine.“

That little toy airplane, the one you gave me
when we were kids,
still stands on my nightstand.
This time it is my turn to teach,
teach you about the cruelty of freedom.

My favorite Lostie.

#death #grief #childhood #friendship #love #loss

Kat Feb 2019

caddy smelled like trees

Mother tell me,
who do your eyes meet in the mirror?
wolf woman wife
little girl
and perhaps ghost.
Caddy did you love them
yes
yes but when they touched me I died
yes but when they touched me I died and was resurrected because a woman dies but comes back another just a change of costume so we can walk in our shadows and strut and fret again.

mother why is the mirror always blurry,
and why are the rooms all empty in this body
fortress sanctuary
that is made by the magic of transformation
Caddy the rooms may be empty but can’t you hear the music?
bird in a cage,
and its songs about longing to feel human.

Faulkner Forever.

#mother #daughter #womanhood

Kat Feb 2019

Moon in Pisces

I said life needs you to revolt,
ceaselessly,
against what will become your fate,
and you said
Okay.

In the book of love is written:
Understanding!
Understanding!
If I had only
loved you less and understood you more.

It‘s all for the best.
Of course.
Of course it is.

#love #loss #breakup #heartbreak

Kat Feb 2019

The Poignancy of Things

Love is not meant to be symbolic.
It is just that
giving and taking,
the triviality of it all,
while we exist at the mercy of the world.
(Your bluest eyes, I miss)
when you played me that bassline honey.
These jazz songs,
they talk about loss,
the sacred place.

In the bluest hour,
I met you at the altar of surrender.
Ah, the poignancy of things.
How we were always looking at each other
but never in the same direction.

#love #loss #heartbreak

Kat Dec 2018

The Garden

Each rose I met promised to explain me
the wonder, the joy
of transformation.
The perennial grief,
at the sight of the world becoming,
is the grief of wanting to understand but not being able to.
How much greed there was,
in my longing for a garden.

#spring #flowers #transcendence #knowledge