Author Archives: Katie Sticca

  The ear is the last face. —Emily Dickinson   Now the owl comes to my sleep, unbidden. I take its call, sculpted and clear, in to the immensity inside me, let it pass   through, a journey not governed … Read More

  Let’s say Heraclitus is right, we can’t swim the same surf twice— the way waves soak into the sand, the patterns left as darker stains that fade when the tide recedes, never repeat though if they did, who would … Read More

  The city warns that coyote have been sighted broaching a few neighbors’ yards. Scat & paw prints found come morning. They must be hungry & desperate,   trembling in the shadows beyond the back porch, which is the way … Read More

  My brand new polydactyl cat uses two extra dewclaws to chase the crumpled pages of mistakes I’ve thrown at the floor. Then he sprays them.   Bored by pleasure, he stretches to the ends of his claws, then claims … Read More

&nbsp Neither of us smiles.   I cradle his body, left arm snug across his back, right arm slung below his legs.   I think I’m holding hours of night, sleepless motherhood, the mistakes of labor.   My thumb rests … Read More

  Mera nam kya hai. Mein kidhar se aayee hoon. The wanderers wander in Urdu and the kings die in English. Everyone has lost the first song. The Portuguese came singing from Sagres. They brought the color of gold and … Read More

  I know, you believe in nothing, so, when you   step off the fire escape, fall into nothing, never   bloody the courtyard’s snowdrifts. Nobody   screams, rushes down to slick dress red. But,   as of today, I’m … Read More

    Rabbits are made of watching, stillness, pulse-pound & leap. String a parade of heartbeats in the air & a rabbit will form around them. Teeth exist that can open you bloody so the universe invented rabbits, who invented … Read More

  Charleston, SC   The marsh flickers in the beading of bridal lace, a train that swallows the dock as she promises tidal fidelity in the shadow of pruned oak.   This land pristine for annual bushels of vows, scrubbed … Read More

  I An old man wipes his glasses with a handkerchief with no corners. He remembers in circles. He cries in circles.   II A day laborer stands on a pile of red bricks. He adds another brick in his … Read More

              Dawn.  Waiting for you at the café among the whitewashed posadas.  Shadows stir with dim awakenings.                                     … Read More

  A regulated eye, calm and gray, that let us see in deep as a mother’s patient, unblinking gaze,   we peered at the unhurried overalls of mild Mr. Greenjeans who carried plants like mittens, or kittens   into and … Read More