Four (or 'Her third birthday")

There's something I love

more than three.

I feel no guilt.

Don't misunderstand me -

three has been good to us

for quite some time

now.

But, as I regard

my mirror's reflection, and

my slowly swelling figure, I

also realize that

four is

much, much,

more.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2o11.

Soldiers

The final cry of

those who die

with less than honour in

their eyes

will not be heard by anyone

whether battles be lost

or battles

be won.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2011

nemesis

"to hell with this,"

she shrugged, shattering

the veil of feigned shame

that was categorically surrounding

her

it was undeniable

- she hated doing the

fucking laundry.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2011.

If you were gone, my heart would break.

The soul within me would fragment, flake

and this life, I could not remake

nor find another to mend the aches.

Whenever the foundation beneath you quakes,

your limbs and life, quiver; shake

and the future appears opaque

The strength you have, do not forsake.

I beg you now, turn, face the light

whether you interpret it dim or bright

muster all your will and might

and together, we'll take up the fight.

Copyright, Catherine Young 2011.

It's time to paint again

I smiled.

"It's time to start

painting again,"

you said.

Usually the leap

towards labour doesn't

tug at me

like this, but

preparing another

room for one more

beating heart,

for one more

smiling face,

for one more

interminable love,

well,

this is not labour.

I feel the potential

growing within me

to face this

with power and

conviction, as I

run my hand across

the rainbow of

samples.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2011.

Eat

When those sunny days turned

into fall, and you remained

firmly by my side,

I knew that I could devour

life again - digest the seconds and

minutes and hours yet

unlived, and allow the

sour sweetness of

disbelief to saturate my

plain existence. The leaves fell around

us, and we never faltered, refusing

to hit the ground with them -

those maples and oaks

and birches, all

encrusting the stake we made. This,

I mistakenly thought, was

all for nought.

I feel fate laughing at me still, and my

foolishness, long since departed. So,

let use eat up this life, drink in

ourselves, our souls, and

relish in the swollen

contentment of our

bellies until we are

overfilled.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2011.

I am untitled

I am yet to be titled

but titlers beware,

look not at my hips

or the slight wave in my hair.

Do not give any weight

to the shape of my eyes

or the way my blue jeans

cling to my thighs.

Remain un-wondering

about the hue of my cheek

and never think upon

this curvy physique.

I am yet to be titled,

but titlers beware,

I'm a developing story

and though pages shall tear

be sure to know

that my cover does hide

most of the complexities

found inside.

So think not of my form,

my face, my look.

This will deny you the rest

of the book.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2011.

Easy

It is easy to be thankful,

and bask in the

simple glory

of my mortality.

It is easy to feel

the holy truth of

my own existence

bear down upon

me, and stop just short

enough that I can feel its

hot breath mix with

my own.

To look my life in

the eyes, and

say, "That's me," and

nothing else?

Yes, this too is easy.

And yet, I find all of this easiness

so incredibly and

decidedly difficult.

you always fly in here

like coattails caught up in a draft

aimless and hurried -

alighting on any soft

dream that resides between

these walls;

poison concealed,

and carrying away with

you the ambiguity of

thought

and the uncertainty

of hands

and the chaos

of all of these mornings,

muted hatred

of

you

within our breasts.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2011.

Besieged

You there -

sitting so seemingly

innocent

your portly body upright

and at attention at

every hour

calling on me

to accompany you

down the plank

you have besieged me.

Truly.

I am destroyed.

The sacking of York

by Wallace and his men

is no comparison

to you and I;

my friend,

my enemy.

Now let us cast off

and be done

with this association

for ever more...

but,

...I do long to taste victory...

just once

just once

why do you always deny me?

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2011.

Abyss

There it lay

before her;

an open gorge

waiting to swallow

the trembling soul,

feeding once more

on an angled plane

of normalcy.

And she cried,

"Oh

my

God!

do not take me here-

I fear it

and you the most!"

A place equal to

none other

here on our earth,

falling on skin-bare

knees

she quakes,

cheeks pressed upon

the crust of the

earth, windswept

and wanting -

calling but left

without return, ah yes,

please redirect your intentions.

Leap forward

now,

but do not look.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2011.

Nth

To this degree I love

you, and by its

very essence the

degree is variable. A fact

I know and feel.

But, take heed.

Be comforted.

And hear this:

You are always a

variable of

staggering proportions.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010.

Sweet and familiar,

I relish this time

with you -

my life, my love.

And with you near,

I can surrender.

Copyright, Catherine Young 2010.

Single white line

against a midnight canvas:

Where are you going?

You seem to be carving

a determined path through

the Cimmerian shade, yet

I contend that nothing

can be that certain.

Perhaps we shall just

remain here,

together and alone,

considering this clearly

inadequate metaphor.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010