Skull by Katy Brown |
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THE ART OF LOSING
by Katy Brown I've always lost things: my keys, phone numbers, grocery lists, the remote control— all things that can be replaced or will not be missed for long— preludes to more complex losses: my purse and credit cards, my wedding ring, my temper— not so easy to recover from and practice for the big ones: loss of my heart's companion, lost faith, my sense of purpose— my way. The art of losing is not in the finding or replacing— but in putting one foot in front of the other without a map . . . . WING MAN by Katy Brown I want something with beak and talons flying beside me: none of this hocus–pocus about angels and guardian spirits. I want the reality of sharp eyes and attention to detail — angels focus on the longer view, they see The Plan, look for goodness and purity with their pewter gaze. I want someone who is interested in lunch and how to get home afterward. I want someone more attuned to the present: someone living on the edge, hunting for opportunity and a bit of blood; one who understands consequences of hard choices. I have eternity to wrap myself in light and sing myself hoarse. A moonless night is darkness enough for me right now, and the caramel–gold of an afternoon holds all the light I need. I want a companion who skims the wind and understands death. SWEPT–UP IN RAPTURE by Katy Brown Rapture 1:1— I dreamed that a piece broke from the sun, arced in a huge fiery mass, and splashed against the earth. No place to hide: seas vaporized, mountains melted, everything scorched to cinder. I was ten. Rapture 1:2— With enough coded numbers in chapters and verses, even poetry becomes an equation for doom: each day appearing as the answer, until the end surprises us. Rapture 1:3— My daughter has a countdown-calendar to winter solstice, 2012— the End predicted by the Mayan calendar. Experts are uncertain they completely understand ancient Mayan. Rapture 1:4— Robins and sparrows fill my yard with song; spiders frame bits of sky in webs of filamented light. Sunlight shimmers silver off the locust tree. Rapture 1:5— Another doomsday come and gone. I’m still here, listening to the prophesy of sparrows.  Katy Brown Katy Brown, a resident of Davis, California, has won awards in The Ina Coolbrith Circle, The Berkeley Poets Dinner, and California Federation of Chaparral Poets competitions. She has had poems in Glass Art Magazine, Wee Wisdom, Daily Word, Harpstrings, and Song of the San Joaquin among others. Her workbook, Poetry Potions, was used in schools for nearly twenty years and is being released in a digital format. Her other writing credits include automobile humor, greeting cards, a multiple-ending book, and a series of short mysteries for young readers. She is a regular contributor to Rattlesnake Press publications |
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