poems Katherine Gotthardt

Heading Up

Do we all get
where we’re headed?
I’d like to believe I do.
I’ve held a cold hand or two,
rubbed a few backs,
running my fingers, lightly,
from illness’s base
up to where it all ends.
See, it’s a paradox.
We come out
top to bottom,
but mortality begins
at the foundation,
works its way up,
a transient pressure
behind the eye.
Feel that explosion of light?
That’s where
my head is going.
See you all soon.
We all will.

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See this poem live at Imagine.

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