Author Archives: Katie Sticca

  My corner. My alma mater. Your street. This endangered fish. Even when we are patronizing we say Sure, honey like of course poetry matters. Polo, quilting, Côtes du Rhône. Civility Matters. But not this! This bridge too far, where … Read More

  Ice Glen, a side trip on our trip to see old friends. Our plan—a hike, and then there was the thought of Hawthorne and Melville, a century before, and their friends, sitting on boulders singing, drinking, and “telling tales,” … Read More

  This is how heaven was invented. You know how you can’t remember where you were before you were here? It’s like that. How you point to a picture and say, that was me when I was a shark, or … Read More

  She was here, no she was really here. She had taken her shoes off, sat down at the foot of your bed, hand on your peace-white hand, her picnic basket and sleeveless blouse; and it was the seashore, she … Read More

  This train stop at Liberty Airport used to be fields, now folks rush into the city, going home or away to a new beginning. I find myself checking for grips & horn cases, musicians coming in for cutting contests … Read More

  There are days of no poems. Not even 17 sounds will come. Why is Joan Didion walking congo baby tiger in my dream? Frog in the pond. Scoop her out, and drive her to the stream. Lay your eggs … Read More

  During life I wanted to be buried in a mystery. On a western estuary where seabirds nest. To drop into a piece of muck and shell, unnamed. Wind, low clouds, rain and shafts of sun. Monks, poets, vapors of … Read More

  Dwarf plants, brittle green, A premature llama, a white giraffe Splashed clean, a pouter pigeon With an inflatable crop. These are the limit of my estate. The first pouter came out as a double-tail, Made from the ancient rock … Read More

  I hold my life with two hands. I walk with two legs. Two ears are enough to hear Bach with. Blinded in one eye, a person sees with the other. Now a great darkness is coming. A both-eyes darkness. … Read More

  Night, the street, the lamp, the drugstore, An empty and toothless light. Live another twenty years more— There’s no way out. No use to fight. You die; rebirth is so banal. And everything repeats its weary stamp: Night, the … Read More

  Standing here at the kitchen sink washing the breakfast dishes, I can see this favorite yellow coffee cup of mine, brought back from Italy ten years ago, will break some day, if not right now, slipping from my suddenly … Read More

  A saturated past his nod, that untaught, I’d known sacred slant and tilt, in silence, spoke a red blaze to the green man, unmoving and dark as a forest pool. My goat muzzle, red-lined against his unsaid words each … Read More