Poems by Katherine Espano
Archives: by Issue | by Author Name
New Land
by Katherine Espano
From Canary Summer 2018
Katherine lives in the lower St. Johns watershed, Florida, about 15 miles west of the Atlantic Ocean.
We are loose coins
tossed from the ferry,
landing on the island
heads-up present
or tails-down past.
Each wild horse
is a shimmering question.
My older daughter rests on a log,
and my husband checks the ground
for signs of sinkholes,
earthquakes, and tsunamis.
Ahead is the beach
where I wept as a child, alone
under a Harvest Moon’s
bloodshot eye.
Wind sweeps the land
free of dust, and sometimes
we’re newer than we know.
My youngest runs
in her pink cloth diaper,
her arm raised like a mast.
The horses gallop over sand,
their manes aloft: wispy kites.
Dappled with sun, the oak trees
smell of salt and promise.
Our voices nest in the air.
© Katherine Espano
The Purpose of Bones
by Katherine Espano
From Canary Spring 2018
In my child-palm, the found bone
was a gondola on a moonlit river.
I gave no thought to an animal
curled, its last breath
a bright ember.
Innocence is a sweeter perfume
than wisdom, but wears off faster.
Now in corners, spiders catch
my old possibilities, wrapping them tightly.
© Katherine Espano