Tag Archives: Catherine Hamrick

Four and a half sleeping pills past 2 a.m., I slipped out of bed, my head still hammered by his voice, though it had faded to air flutters brushing his throat, and snatched up an unfinished dreamcatcher, tying off yarn … Continue reading →

In the a.m. of my p.m., I stay a sweet bay magnolia blossom, like a tilt-a-whirl in the cup of my hand, its spoon petals deep enough to scoop last night’s takeout— wonton soup, now garbage to go. Memorial Day … Continue reading →

A crotch rocket muscles a GTO and shoots into a scorched tar mirage far from city-center splendor where fountains spritz, arcing then receding in pink-and-yellow play. The rider leans hard, her hair stringing in a wind rush; her jean-tugged butterfly … Continue reading →

In the dead of August, yellowing leaves scuttled Alabama yards unready for rakes—autumn’s casual brush-by, a 68-degree flirt with sweater weather after a fine rain. In a deeper south, the Amazon burned; the slideshow played a frame or two on … Continue reading →

I never toe-squished from a rocky shore to wade into a river that would salvage my muddy, sidestepping soul— the sun’s baptismal fire plunges me into the turquoise-tiled bliss of a gunite pool, a state of grace fogging my goggles, … Continue reading →

I never scrounged the ground for a four-leaf clover but lounged in the outfield, lacing daisy chains, wistfully wishing no ball would plop my way. But today I will stomp an icy mud puddle and misspell my name: Cait catches … Continue reading →

On an errand to the woodpile, I, snow angel, fell from grace, slick-tripped on ice-sheeted green moss rock. The wind froze. You, Mardi Gras baby, false-beaded cherub— draped with cheap glass, gold, purple, and green— stood stone dead, your unsmirked … Continue reading →

I turned a deaf ear to the music of the spheres, shutting out ratio song and measured integers— blind to starlight pinpointing big-picture stories. This winter’s beat went arrhythmic, and I lost count to rain pattering crystals on the windowpanes, … Continue reading →

My January sleep brushes a dragonfly, wing-stopped over life budding above the flat-topped golden seed pod of a mud-risen white lotus— my midnight mudra opening. Heat trickles, and my hand fiddles at a hairline itch, a flit second, until winter … Continue reading →