Katherine's Coffeehouse

I am not sure what is more important: to tell you how I used to narrate my life in my mind while I walked the neighborhood as a child? How I never moved my lips, but somehow made more exciting that single horse farm on the corner,

Goodbye to my spine that complains

This vivid morning, owl still howling a dirge into another daytime, I am reminded of you,

Let me tell you what I brought:

And in the shadow of yesterday,

Can you still manage to care for the vulnerable?

And it occurs to me that the throat of sunrise has more than a singular sermon,

Ever have a morning where everything seems to bother you? Where coffee filters conjoin like slurwords, and not even your longest thumbnail can separate what has become what?

When sometimes you paint a door because you’ve left it too long,

they march in, four by four by four, each