A best friend of mine, Katie Tschabold, arranges her life and words in ways that pierce my tear sockets. I just spent a good two hours reading and crying over her new creation, "Leaving the Apiary." I'm posting a couple from the selection. I love this woman, I would not be living so fully without her friendship. I miss you, Katie!
A letter
I try to tell her
the space between you and I is tinier
than her fingernails, or the way she closes her eyes
when sun rises through the window on noon's elbows
Tinier, even, than the teeth she waits for,
patiently, night the same as day, another hour to sleep or
wake for food, my breast, amazement
Earthly things are soil and planting the
question of breakfast, long minutes waiting for coffee
my brewer old and sputtered like a drowning fish
And still I think the space between us is nothing
I've made thousands of cups without you
taken steps, closed my front door, waited for
change, a paycheck, clouds to rain
I've seen rainbows and a man's hunched shoulders, praying
women, none as honest as you were to me
when there was nothing between us
but a door
When you visit
flying over Montana, or Oregon,
alone, or with you own baby,
will you hair be longer than now or short and firm,
closer than your arms are to your sides,
or will they be open and will nothing be between us
the space tiny as it always was
like a child
By Kathryn Tschabold
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment