Poetry
Katherine Botsis

Photo Credit: Bird Eye

The Rest of Me

The apartment is quiet.
You are still sleeping
in the other room.
It’s just past eight,
late for you.

I hear the whir of the fan
in the corner, feel its breeze
address my right forearm.

My sweatshirt sleeves are pushed up,
the rest of me under the comforter,
somehow warm and cold
at the same time.

Periodically, a car drives by,
above my head, past the
window of our basement
apartment.

Where do they have to go?
I wonder.

I could half-sit here forever
clicking these keys,
finding anything while
moving only my fingers.

waiting

feeling like so many bulls
in a stadium of swords,
like so many dancers
on a skyscraper wire,
like so many monsters
in a world without children,
like waiting for death
in a room full of clocks.

again

the earth is quiet,
moving like a wind
so soft no one
notices.

whispers become
echoes when only
a canyon is
listening.

gently,
it responds
with no answer,
except to say:

again.

Katherine Botsis grew up in Michigan and lived in Las Vegas for nine months before moving to Seattle, Washington in 2004. She earned a Bachelor’s Degree in English from the University of Washington and then a Masters in Teaching from City University of Seattle. She currently works as a second-grade teacher. Email: kabmx6[at]aol.com