Poetry by Katy Santiff
If I, in my vasting, my long-sounded
self-review, recoup one coup too much for
you–I won’t fault you your auf wiedersehen,
bis spater, ‘til later, and then, adieu.
But what I meant to say to you: that I’ve
walked to the edge of your woodlines, that I’ve
pulled myself through your sentries [dead vines], and
I’m buckling beside your brook, you bathing
inside, where mysteries keep and alters hide
from the grasp of gods, while blood-angels spied
on us, a mass of tangle, and they cried.
A seedling springs, is feeding, where you died.
I’ve already extracted from me these pounds of cost–
these things that years will hemorrhage: love and loss.
About the Poet
Katy Santiff has written poetry in various forms all her life. A fan of meter and rhyme, she loves lines that hypnotize the reader with their sound. She believes in densely-packed poems, preferring them to be mouthfuls when read aloud. A lifelong Marylander, she loves water-side living. She currently lives in Edgewater, Maryland with her wife. Her Works have been published by Vita Brevis and Spillwords Press.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.