To Mum

I wanted to let you

know why there's no poem

to you -

it's because words

will never be enough;

so, for once,

let me get away with

not trying.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

Leonard

Mr. Cohen,

Your Book of Longing makes

me tear my hair from

its roots, gnash my

vampire teeth with fueled

frustration, and feel the

pressure of a knuckled hand

tunneling into my gut.

Oh, this jealousy is a

determined affliction,

so I quietly request

a reprieve from your lines.

They are sheer beauty.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

To my cousin Derek

I wanted to let you know

about how your dad taught me

to fly fish, when I had but

twelve years to my name

and didn't appreciate the art

behind our motions:

the subtlety of the wrist,

the grace of the arm,

the precision of the cast,

and the patience of the mind.

But I did love eating

Aldomak Snowballs

and hearing his stories,

wondering which were true

and which fictitious.

Two trout came home by

the end of my line

the first night, and we

had forged some bond

and grown more in love with

each other than ever before.

I wanted to let you know

about how your dad taught me

to fly fish,

but you are his mirror image

with his eyes looking back at me,

so it seems redundant to speak

of memories I feel you

have already experienced.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010

Maelstrom

I love the way words

roll off my tongue

and make every

minute of expression more

meaningful

when the right ones

are chosen

just like yesterday, when I

used 'maelstrom' in relation

to my life

- it was so accurate

and tasted sweet, though

describing bedlam

and though it turned

the corners of

her mouth so far,

so far

south

and now, too

words flow from frantic fingers

like the furious whirlpool;

blind in direction

but certain in purpose

if ever you'd believe that true.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

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.