Tag Archives: love

the bones of this land

Posted on October 25, 2016 by Kat Heatherington

i grew up on a mining claim in the mountains of central arizona. bear with me. i grew up in a nice-enough house on the poor side of a small town in the mountains of central arizona. i walked to … Continue reading →

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the perseids fall

Posted on August 16, 2016 by Kat Heatherington

the perseids fall. the weather breaks, sharp heat turning to sudden wind and sometime rain. i stand at the kitchen sink, scrubbing what remains of your life. a photo of the most beautiful work your hands ever made. the thing … Continue reading →

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the heat of this night

Posted on May 31, 2016 by Kat Heatherington

i stand in a twilit field watching the water ease in, watching flickering bats hunt mosquitoes, watching you prepare to leave again. the water seeps over dry soil, finds every fissure, pours in. the bat careens in circles, appearing and … Continue reading →

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what to remember

Posted on October 13, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

remember not that you argued with your sister, but that you sang in the kitchen alone, and the house remembered a sound it had not heard in years. remember fireflies blinking slowly in the roadside dark and a night sky … Continue reading →

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bells

Posted on September 24, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

all night my sleep is troubled by bells. outside, the bronze bell from my wedding, the arcosanti bell, three leaping fish on the clapper, plays in the wind of a passing storm. your love enfolds me from afar, a molecular … Continue reading →

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winter can wake me when you return

Posted on September 10, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

the dawn sky cracks with birdsong. wild geese fly over in a noisy mass, autumn spilling from their wingbeats. you leave my side, your silhouette disappears through the doorway into a grey morning, one shadow vanishing into another. weeks will … Continue reading →

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bruises

Posted on August 4, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

you pulled the bruises off the inside of my heart, gave them shape, punched them right on up to the surface where this broken skin can heal can be no more than broken skin no less than a healed heart.

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present with something burning

Posted on June 18, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

you rest in a body of water with fire cupped in your hand. you are a waterfall, grief & change & love, and you are present with something burning. even at rest, your body moves. you are alive to your … Continue reading →

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my rock

Posted on May 29, 2015 by Kat Heatherington
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an irrigated field

Posted on May 21, 2015 by Kat Heatherington

it smells like rain or an irrigated field and tonight i have both and new love besides.

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