New Poem: The Evil Underbelly of Awakening

8-20-09
The Evil Underbelly of Awakening

There is an evil moment on awakening when all things seem to pause --
evil because in that still moment, that moment of nothingness, of
peace, of the kind of solitude that curls around your leg like a cat's tail --
comforting and cuddly,
there is no uncertainty, no anxiety, no guilt, no past or future taunting you
with their promises, broken and yet to come to fruition, or with images from your mind's eye
that you try so hard to erase, to bury, to ignore, but are never succesful at ridding yourself of.
This moment, frozen, lets you forget all these things. It tricks you, making you believe that the slate's clean
when we all know there is no such thing as a clean slate.
People never fail to remind of us
of the things we should or shouldn't have done.
And then we awake and it all rushes back into our consciousness' -- the days we've wasted
and the people we've replaced and
the things left undone,
the words that wounded like razor-sharp and finely-honed knives,
the eyes that we see in our dreams,
the regrets and wishes and unfilfilled desires,
our already burning funeral pyres,
the breaths we forget to breathe,
the seasons that never seem to leave,
lingering past their alloted time,
they drive us insane.
Yes, there is an evil moment on awakening when all things seem to pause --
when we forget the sound of our own breathless screams.

copyright 2009 Katherine Andrews

New Poem: Curves and Lines and Valleys

8-16-09
Curves and Lines and Valleys

curves and lines and valleys
bellies and bumps and bulges
all these things burst forth
from beneath fabric
form one form
a shape, a being
me, by god, me
in all my glory and imperfections
bad-kneed and unevenly endowed
round and wide-hipped
full-bellied and fat-assed
round-cheeked
big-eyed
with red cheeks and bee-stung lips
wide-eyed
face framed by lanky hair badly in need of a dye job -- half auburn, half brunette
deep rich tones framing sunken eyes, a button nose, uneven lips
all of it
exactly the way it's supposed to be
right here, right now
nothing more
nothing less
and it will grow or shrink
as life calls for it
and it will still be me
achingly,
poignantly,
more and more,
with ever breath,
breathtakingly,
beautiful.

copyright 2009 Katherine Andrews

NEW POEM: Just In Time

8-16-09
just in time

am i running out of time?
i know i have all the time in the world
as much time as any of us have
yet i feel this impending sense of urgency
this breathlessness
like as if I'm living in moments fraught with urgency and importance
and all this time
with a million eyes watching to see what I'll do next
I'm frittering away the most important moments of my life
blowing on dandelions yet forgetting to make wishes
not holding sacred or dear the spells cast upon me
the intoxication each breath should bring
numb, I sleepwalk through the fabric of my life
going through the motions, dialing it in
and with each step, wondering if I should be kicking myself for the one I just took
oh lord, let me wake up
live fully, fiercely, feverishly
breathe deeply, filling my lungs,
letting fresh air get me drunk on the weight of a single joyous moment
so fraught with emotion
so frequent yet so fragile

copyright 2009 Katherine Andrews

NEW POEM: The Wino Confesses Her Addiction

8-4-09
The Wino Confesses Her Addiction

He's a ripe grape, crushed, strained, bottled, fermented.
When he finally comes to me, he's finely aged, full-bodied,
with dry overtones,
and most importantly, completely intoxicating.
He comes with a warning label
that I never bother to read.
He sits chilled and breathing and encased in a shapely package
that gleams and glistens as beads of moisture form upon it.
His scent and taste are heady and evoke danger and thrills and secrets and late-nights and things we shouldn't do but would never take back.
I greedily swallow him down.
I want to take in every last drop of him, know every note of his flavor, have him deep inside me as I become an expert in the ways in which he wields his weapons.
He never fails to seduce me, when he chooses to do so.
All it takes is a waft of his oaky aroma in my direction, a gleam from a bead of moisture on his wrapping, and I lose myself to him.
It's a fight I'll never win.
He'll always get his way with me.
I'm powerless against this vice
and though I know I shouldn't drink so greedily from his cup,
I can't help but gulp ravenously.

copyright 2009 Katherine Andrews