January 2024
Bio Note: I am a writer and educator seeking an audience for my ever-growing surplus of poetic meanderings. I hoards her previous published writings, links to publications, and additional information on her website (see above). I am grateful to anyone who reads my work and in awe of those willing to share it.
Are We Not
at times so desperate for meaning we look for it in every facet from cloud formations to green traffic lights are we not so eager for direction we read every passing mile marker aloud yet we are no longer taught cartography nor the reason for the craft we are taught patience but never told what we are waiting for we are told to hold our breath but never the reason for ceasing to inhale in the clouds I see everything from dragons to seashells to angry faces in mid scream some nights I drive watching the countdown of miles as I get closer and closer to an unknown destination I hold my breath and watch the clock to see how much patience I have and I question are we not all questioning purpose without any faith of finding true answers
To the student who introduced me to Philip Glass
There must have been more to you. A strength kept far below your commonplace skin; a philosophy found in the keys of grand piano. Perhaps I never noticed it because it was in your hands, the clean nails and posed fingers of a pianist. I was looking at a face too eager to avoid my glance. Maybe you didn’t play at all and that secret was resting beside ear drum and closed eyes as you followed the notes with nodding head. But oh, how the staccato pierced me, repetition and awakening, The familiar and the cloaked taking turns at who leads the dance. The known or unknown, sage or novice, Teacher becomes student and student-teacher. Of all I have learned from doing nothing more than listening, this lesson is one of the sweetest.
Collection
A collection of moments: Fireflies twinkle again mountain side beside a river in North Carolina. The heat got to me, leaving me sick and dizzy after only two hours on the road. Rain falling on the windshield blurring the view of the highway. A moment of panic. Falling asleep in a ray of sunshine that sneaks through dingy window. Coffee stains on white shirts, forgotten names of relatives, pink lipstick on front teeth. The time on the California Highway when the fog handicapped my eyes with a sheet of white. I thought it was the end until I saw the brake lights pierce the cloud. Do the clouds have so much power it can make a lazy mind time travel to a place of yellow and orange and gold where the sun is not kept from my skin? A hastily written confession in the form of a letter, never acknowledged. Music in the morning air from a bird who sits upon wires singing songs of survival. Have I done enough to be awarded a simple life?
©2024 Katrina Kaye
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