Poetry by Kat Lee
My worst fear
Would be to lose you.
Spoken of a lover,
The words evoke cheesy desperation.
For man is an island, And he boasts of that.
Cry under the floorboard, lowly broken hearted,
The populous deems a lover less necessary than pride.
Work and tolerance take you up the ladder
Clock out before you get home.
Man is an island.
Spoken of a child,
Frantic, the heart races at the idea of it…
You ate my late night milkshakes
Kicked me in my sleep.
My child…I didn’t carry you,
I grew you like a branch on a tree.
As though I’d detached then given birth to my own arm,
When you aren’t near me,
I wonder where my arm is.
Spoken of the Earth,
Scratch your nose and blink through the telltale lie.
My worst fear is not to lose you.
Man interprets what God says true,
The Earth is not your true home.
Enjoy riches as the coastline blackens,
Then He shall call you back.
Losing you is like saying goodbye
To the last of a breed of marmot you’ve never seen.
Too bad a Day spent strolling on Earth
Isn’t more like Giving Birth to your own arm…