Katsek

A natural cadence about it —
sometimes, the exact width of my patience.
I pencil you in indefinitely.
Let’s not make a racket.
It is always autumn in my heart
no matter what set of eyes meet mine.
We are different kinds of broken – none of us whole
(strength in numbers)
Someday I may tell you
that you are all of my Novembers
and that every November ends up breaking me
shaking down my soul
and eating me alive.
I hold myself together
writing free-verse poems
that don’t even feel free.

M.

Katsek: wicked, cunning, malicious | Inuttitut.

 

 

Poetry

Mandy Joy Poole View All →

Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.

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