Letter to a Friend

Hey,

You gotta know something:

Your honesty always

broke my heart, man.

It wasn't easy seeing a

person's soul laid out

in chalk-white outline.

It wasn't easy hearing truths

I knew were true.

It wasn't easy feeling

your emptiness inside

of me,

as we huddled together

on that crafted rattan rug,

listening, as always,

to our music

and each other.

But, boy, was it easy to

do it over and over again

for you, brother,

because I loved you, and

still do. Besides,

when all is said and done,

I'm still pretty sure I got

the better deal

in this relationship.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010.

Barkless

me without you, well,

that's akin to a

barkless dog;

if you imagine

a pitiful creature

lying on the front

steps of his master's

home, futile and

useless, void of any sense

of self.

But I saw a dog without

vocal chords

once,

and he was not

inactive nor useless,

and boy did he try

to intimidate

all those who dared

cross his front walk!

And Sami and I, on

a warm afternoon, found

the mutt not pitiful,

but unbelievably funny,

in so many ways.

I guess me without you

isn't like a barkless dog

at all.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

Nights on Limeylands

first, the time i slept

just beyond my nana's

hearth, smelling

the charred logs, and feeling the

heat's sting upon

my cheek.

i curled myself up into

a woolen ball

on her sheep skin rug,

and committed myself

to the night.

next, the time

there was no room

for my older sister -

nor I.

so, we were sent

to the motorhome

in the lane

the giggles into the

night

ceasing only when

the drunken men

stumbled home 'cross

our path

our humble

sleeping place

and briefly muted our

selfish laughter

last, my cousin's wedding

and the first time wine passed

my lips

again, and again, and again

outside of my mother's eyes

and when I awoke with

a desert in

my mouth

she laughed, and

was shocked my punishment

wasn't more severe

each night is a memory

that feels more like

a dream each year i live

and this strikes and

strains me with

an unyielding grief.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Coyote

i stood, legs

astride

on the country lane

- having just lowered

my camera

after settling

its lens upon the

tree-umbrella-ed

road

and -

as i returned to

my car

you emerged from the woods.

shoulders lowered,

trying to appear invisible

on the open lane

skulking, and pausing

for only an instant

to glance

disparagingly in my

direction

before scuttling away into

the undergrowth on

opposite

side

your sighting kept

me honest

for the rest of the

dewy morning.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

cleopatra

you are a cleopatra, my friend

and you wouldn't deny it

i can see it as i rub your legs

and you look

with smiling lips.

in the wake of your eyes

i become benevolent

desirous of fulfilling your

every want-filled wish

so ask,

dear cleopatra, ask.

and i will

be your servant until

the end of days.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010.