Tag Archives: Catherine Friesen

Look around and orient to the here and now. Touch your hands to your shoulders, massage the knots of the tree out and into the earth. Accept stillness, listen to the breath expanding in the body, expanding in everyone’s bodies. … Continue reading →

snowdrops emerge through old dirt; sharp staccato birdsong from the cedars beside the house; snow melts and a trickle of something familiar seeping in through the cracks. Your poems are still in my pantry, sticky under jars of jam we … Continue reading →

Behind is nothing but tenebrous mountain peaks looming close to home and a trail of oil from something rumbling in the dark. Ahead farmlands sink impetuous beneath a foot of rain so fence posts protrude like arms from a grave … Continue reading →

In a house with no doors we lie on the floor while the ceiling whirs vigorously above us. You pull me up, furniture vanishes, and we gyrate through a bare room to no music until we’re stiff with longing and … Continue reading →

If I look out my window at night I see the lone light on the mountain across the valley, glinting rude accusations at me, a conversation I’ll sidestep until I die. It’s there every night regardless of weather and makes … Continue reading →