Katherine's Coffeehouse


You brought it to the pawn shop, the only silver I’d ever owned. Perhaps I’ll buy it back. Save it from strangers. Give it to you for Christmas. Oh, your eyes.


Recall waves bye like a tired baby, confusion puckering, the right words already asleep, unintelligible taking over. No one seems to know why. Maybe it’s the surgeries. Maybe it’s the age. Maybe it’s the strict stride of burdensome time, the hobble of gray matter trying to keep up, child reverting to crawling, attempting to cruise, …

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Spring Thaw

Remember when the sun offered us just enough to turn snow in the road to puddles? Mom said the wanted words: Yes, you can ride your bike now. You pedaled through salt and sand and every mini-pond for miles, soaking the bottom of your corduroys. They stuck to your ankles, dripped down your socks, into …

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In the cinema, pudgy recliner holding me in its vinyl hand, your own hand holding mine – I want to laugh at the preview, but only the right side of my mouth moves, upper lip meeting lower cheek, like some lopsided, one-sided kiss. We’re too old to make out in theaters, too young to think …

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Monday Morning Revival

Hope leaked out of the lunch bin, into my laptop bag, messing up the expected. What is this new Monday marked on my calendar with a sticky note? Read closely: Renewal has arrived.   #KatherinesCoffeehouse

Zoo Animals

Always up a hill smell of heaviness and hay the elephant house -Katherine Gotthardt #KatherinesCoffeehouse

The Fall

These dark, autumn mornings, and yesterday’s indifferent rain, the calendar bothered by subsiding sun, and some made up bullshit – daylight savings. You can’t save something that isn’t there. You can’t simply rename time, expecting it to change. What is this, politics? Spin it and it’s true? Today is Monday. It’s dark at six, morning …

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Statement of the Times

Fear is an ugly book cover. Crack open the spine. Read past the first chapter. Decide if it’s fiction. Or faction. #KatherinesCoffeehouse


It’s why I didn’t squash the horsefly, merely walked back inside.   It’s why I captured the rat, freed it in the field, let the vultures hold jury.   It’s why I stepped over the snake.   It’s why when you said that, sure, I was taken aback. But more, I knew I would not …

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I’m afraid of ostriches. Not metaphorical ones (though head in the sand can be worse than a rotting pecan disguised on a praline pie – take one bite and see how quick reality happens). No, I mean real ostriches, with their spaghetti legs and avocado heads and Jello salad wiggle-walk. And the way they run, …

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