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.