Me and you

I am Mary Poppins on her runaway horse

I am a dragonfly, looming over the lake

I am a mitten with a hole in the thumb

and a baseball soaring to the stands.

I am a steak knife, newly sharpened

I am an orange without its peel

I am a brick, laid tightly

I am a chocolate covered cherry.

*

You are the power button on my remote

and the windshield wiper on the dash of my Dodge

You are the last marshmallow in my Lucky Charms

You are the pad lock on my bicycle

The shoelace in my hiking boots

and the ink in my pen.

You are me staring into the mirror.

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woman (for those who call me “girl”)

I am not a girl.

No.

These hips have worn
two children.

These hips have opened up
and born two children
in a sea of dark,
pain rising like the tide
and SMACKED against the shore

over

and

over

and

over

a little harder
and a lot faster
each time.

I know what it means to welcome it washing over me
but afraid I’d never make it out alive.

But I did.

And I know

these hips remember
that rhythm
and remind me

I am a woman.

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Don’t Hold Back

“Set your life on fire. Seek those who fan your flames.” -Rumi

Don’t Hold Back

Be brave like the fire
that knows because it’s alive,
anything is possible.

photo credit: Denis Collette…!!! via photopin cc

© Katrina Pierson

Over-easy

I’ll never forget the night…

I was not quite 16
working at a diner on Highway 210.

It was the kind of place
that perfumed my hair with 
hash browns, bacon
and french toast.
a Normal Rockwell painting,
or a black and white film.

The kind of place with a long counter
where old men called me sweetheart
and talked about “how it used to be”–
outdated like the curtains hanging,
worn thin from too much sun.

A place where greasy men
gathered like hornets
buzzing in the corner.

How would you like your eggs today?

I’ll never forget that night,
when that man, who called me Madonna,
put a handful of change down the front of my shirt
like I was some kind of jukebox
he could turn on.

How time slowed down.

How my cheeks stung.

How I felt like an egg

– over easy

standing there

as my tray went
crashing to the dingy floor.

I’ll never forget that night I learned,
at not yet 16,
the burn of being a woman.

© Katrina Pierson

photo credit: Runs With Scissors via photopin cc

 

black and white

There is a fire that flirts with the edges of the sea
the smoke is calling you to come along with me.

peel apart the layers
of darkness from light
to uncover the shades
in between.

roam the meandering
curves of the shoreline
where nothing is settled
for long.

let the sharps and flats
play against your ear
as you crash into
my restlessness.

then shake my burning embers
like dice
in your heavy hands
and roll me against the blackest
of skies.

© Katrina Pierson

photo credit: j-dub1980(THANK YOU FOR 100k+ Views) via photopin cc

 

sonar

 

On the heels of (another) migraine, my energies are low tonight. Here’s one from 2009….

 

 

For my son…

I wonder how far 
you were from me 
before you were born, conceived 
from a single sound signal. 

How long did it take 
for your echo to return 
or was it always there 
waiting? 

Now I watch you grow 
and try to measure the speed 
at which you are 
becoming. 

But I can’t separate 
your pulse from mine. 
I think you were always there– 
I just had to listen. 

© Katrina Pierson

 

falling anyways- detachment

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Buddhist idea of detachment lately. To me, detachment means recognizing that there are so many things that are out of our control that we should not become overly invested in any one outcome. For me, detachment means knowing when it is time to let go and “let god.”

After serving as board chair of an emerging organization over the past three years, it’s time for me to begin my own process of detaching as a new leader steps forward.

In honor of this process, and to properly acknowledge the first snowfall of the season, here’s a Buddhist-inspired meditation that’s been living inside of me for awhile….

*

Falling Anyways

Don’t be like the last leaf

hanging from the frozen branch.

Or the caterpillar

who won’t turn in to her own beauty.

Detach.

Fall gently, like a snowflake, knowing not where you will land,

but falling anyways.

photo credit: adamwilson via photopin cc

November 4, 2013

“Say a small poem. Love the exchange. An autumn willow has no fruit, so how could it dance in the wind of Do-not-fear? It rattles and talks with nothing to offer. Give voice to a poem. Let it end with praise for the sun and the friend within the sun.”

 -Rumi

 

Born to Fly   

Wait. Don’t go in. There is still time before the darkness falls upon the Opera

to let the burning colors of autumn roll in and out of the fog of your being.

 

Listen to the people on the street.

 Feel its subtle movement beneath your feet.

 

Let the wind pick you up and thrust you like a leaf,

into the indigo sky!

 

While the earth leans away, tilt in. Feel its roar deep within your being.

 

Open your music box and let the tiny dancer free.

 

Copyright Katrina Pierson, 2013 

Truth

I woke up yesterday morning with a startle and a clear message from the Universe. 

“Find your truth and it won’t need any persuasion.” 

My truth is returning to my art. It is exploring the depths of what is possible in community with others. 

Truth

My truth is feeling. music. movement.
barefoot. hip sway.
sun. water. love. light.
living for today. 

Come dance with me….

 

“The beauty you see in me is a reflection of you.” 

-Rumi