God, don’t let us be forever proud. I
often teetered down a quiet edge, when
heart-things should be loud—and silence was my
breastplate then, protective from the prying,
heartless din. That kept my loving in.
But love is not of logic made—how we’re
fluid-filled but fear the many moods we wade.
We are wide things, and we’re flowing, soon to flood.
We are green things, and we’re growing, soon to bud.
Woman, it seems to me that we are like
two wood ducks in a storm when in this pain—
built to feel that water, those tears of rain.
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 mouthful when read aloud. A lifelong Marylander, she loves waterside living. She currently resides in Edgewater, Maryland. Her works have been published in Vita Brevis, Spillwords Press, and Uppagus Magazine.