In which our writer tries her hand at poetry

On the occasion of unintentionally leaving Imagine Dragons on repeat

Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

My demons don’t hide anywhere,
They’ve been wrestled and slain.
I deboned them and sautéed the meat in a fine shallot reduction.
I fed it all to my better angels;
They have grown healthy and strong
On the added protein.

Perspective

Perspective

airplane forced perspectiveYou think you’re looking at one thing — but then, something happens, and the perspective shifts.  When you adjust the focus, you come to see that something else has been going on all along. You thought you were just trying to lose a few pounds, but then you realize that you’ve developed beautiful muscles. You thought your work was preparing you for one type of career, but then you discover that you’ve become equipped for something else entirely, something far better than you’d planned.  Was that a lightning bug or a comet?  Is Benito Cereno the ship’s captain or its hostage?  Is she really carrying the moon on her back?

holding the moon Continue reading

Strong Wings

Strong Wings

Writing is hard. I want to run away. It’s an absolute confrontation with the self, though, so you can’t run away. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to metaphors: they screen; I can hide for a minute, catch my breath.

Strength training is the same kind of hard: there’s nowhere to hide. I always show up on time, I’m always warmed up, ready to go. My trainer’s always there, always ready; he shows up too, every time.

I have trouble with shoulder movements. I tend to hike my shoulder blades up towards my ears, dancer backcaving in on myself, compressing my neck. When this happens, I can’t breathe properly, my posture breaks down, I hunch. When this happens, he stands behind me and touches his fingers across the top of my trapezius muscle, gently pressing down, to keep me in place. To remind me of the proper form. “Remember to stabilize the scapula,” he says. Continue reading

© 2017 kathy * writes