Category Archives: Essays

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 7 October 2018

It’s been an exhausting week. Without planning it, today’s ReVerse sums it up quite well. Too well.

Oh I know there are those who see the culmination of this week’s events as a victory. It’s why they voted for trump after all, knowing full well what a misogynistic, racist, greedy, narcissist he was. He was a means to an end. This end. The highest court of our land is now stacked in their favor. It’s a gift from their god, surely. The one who judges and condemns women, minorities, foreigners, the poor, the sick, children, the weak. Yes, that god, praise Jesus. They are reaping the just rewards for their idolatry. One step closer to the heaven on earth they dream of and pray for each night.

I know you’re thinking, tell us what you really think, Kat. Ha! Am I right?!

Well, I’ll tell you. What I really think. What I know. The god they so piously claim to worship? He is not god…his son is not Jesus. The Jesus I know loved the outcast, the sinner, the poor, the weak. He gave women a voice and included them amongst his disciples. He listened to them, confided in them. It was a woman he first appeared to when he returned. If you believe in the stories written about him. It’s okay if you don’t.

I’ll admit I do not believe in the god of those who call themselves christian. I stopped warming a pew long ago. I could not stomach the lies, self-righteousness judgment, and hate that spewed from the pulpit and festered in the hearts of loyal congregants who gratefully thanked god, their god, for saving them from being like… well, you know, us…the others…the fallen…the lost.

In fact, I feel lost right now. I like to think that there is a god somewhere who cares. That Jesus is real. That all the sages of the ages who speak of love and mercy and forgiveness were on to something. That there is a god who asks us to love one another, to help the foreigner, to visit the prisoner, to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, to welcome the outcast…because that’s the kind of god he (or she) is. Yeah, that would be a god worth following, worth believing in.

As I write this I am sitting on my porch in the cool darkness listening to crickets and city sounds droning in the distance. I think about those who are suffering tonight. Those who were hurt this week. Those whose memories of injustice were dredged from the darkness, laid bare, and trampled upon by those who are celebrating a win this weekend. My heart breaks for us all, and I know I am not the only one who feels this way. And that gives me hope. I still believe in the goodness of those of us who feel. I believe in that spark of compassion that I see in those around me. God may not be some white haired dude sitting on a throne smiting the unchosen after all, but I’m more than okay with that. I see god in the gentle, the compassionate, the weak, the outcast, in all living, breathing things; I feel god in the wind. I can believe that god. The one who is. I can believe in us. I can believe in you. There you are. I see you.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 7 October 2018

i rise like air
listen…there is birdsong
I hearsay, hearsay’s not proof for true seekers of truth
silence
no one would know
weaving threads of silken lace she lies in wait and waits
face toward the light so shadows fall behind, out of sight
death interrupts our planned existence in an instant
trust is fragile, easily lost, regained at great cost
when justice declares her verdict…
saying you believe, but…reveals a mind that is shut
She was a bitch.

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


October 13-31 Poem #4

death interrupts our planned existence in an instant

~kat

Death has visited my corner of the universe thrice this week. Firstly, taking our beloved old tortoise, Flash, who succumbed to kidney failure.

Secondly, it claimed a lovely pear tree ripped asunder by a wayward moving van who edged too close, depositing her beautiful limbs across the street, blocking traffic, tearing down cable lines and shutting down power for several of my neighbors.

And thirdly, while the city assessed the damage done by the felled tree, a block over police stormed the home of a poor soul whose demise was the likely result of an overdose. A neighbor, fearing the worst, reported his repeated attempts to contact them to no avail. Death is a disruptive interloper leaving sorrow and destruction in its wake with no regard for our well-planned routines. It does what it will leaving us to clean up the mess. I do hope it is finished with our little neighborhood for a while. Not that I would wish its arrival to anyone else’s neighborhood. But it is a sobering reminder of how fragile life is. A reminder to live each moment to the fullest. Live long and prosper my friends.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 30 September 2018

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There is an air of despair and hopelessness, as bitter old men ram through a questionable candidate for the highest court in our land, to reign over us for a lifetime. 

Our nation was riveted to ‘credible’ testimony laced with accounts of a lifetime of pain resulting from trauma and responded to with pent up privileged rage. It left us tearful and aghast, this spectacle that summed up the chasm between us. It left us with more questions than answers and a clear view into the soul of an elite powerful class in the final throws of power. It revealed to us that there is nothing the powerful will not do or say to keep their power, the rest of us be damned. 

There is a pattern to the assaults on equality, dignity, and fairness that has transpired over the past few years. Among those in power are the privileged, old white men and their fawning little women, and evangelical pro-lifers who are happy to sell their souls if it means edging them closer to a dystopian heaven on earth a la Gilead (see Handmaid’s Tale). Those who suffer abuse at the hands of this power base are disproportionately female, young, sick, poor, marginalized, ethnic, immigrant, or people of color. Heaven, it seems is only for the chosen and we are all painfully reminded daily who is chosen and who is not. We know them by their fruits as their tome reminds us. Rotten to the core, but ever righteous according to this twisted doctrine, their transgressions covered in the blood of the lamb (aka the meek). That referenced verse is ironic in a terrifying way. 

It’s not for me to say who’s telling the truth. The fact is, truth doesn’t really matter. What I do know is what cannot be unseen…the spectacle of this candidate for a position on the Supreme Court’s performance. It smacked of his being temperamentally unhinged, rage-full, vindictive, and blatantly partisan as revealed by his own words when he repeated wild conspiracy theories against democrats. If he is pushed through to that esteemed seat on the bench, will we ever be able to trust in the wisdom, justice and impartiality that our founders envisioned? I think not. Of all the tragedies that have resulted from this week of blight, this is the worst and most far reaching damage anyone can imagine. It is stunning to witness. Democracy unraveling.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 30 September 2018

and the moon’s made of cheese
there, waiting in the dark…
to feed your narcissism
if you remember all who came before you
life has a way of surprising us.
thoughts, words mean nothing
when tossed into a cesspool
tick tock so very slowly
she weeps fallow fronds,
as smoke with no fire
truth hid, on holiday
morning will never bring peace
never too late for a do over
dreams never end
believing a thing,
wounds too deep to heal unaided,
it just was’t in the cards.

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.


September Poem #25

proof,
the “gritty-nits”,
when tossed into a cesspool
of dull memories drowned in booze
conjures our worst demons

~kat

A word about the photo above. It is a composite of several men recently (within the last several years) accused or convicted of sexual assault against women. I layered their faces one on top of the other and blurred the final silhouette. In this age of “Me Too” it is hard to separate separate the demons from each other without convicting everyone before they’ve even been tried. Regardless of the seriousness of their transgressions, we are quick to treat all with the same intense condemnation. It is reasonable to say that an off color joke spoken in mixed company does not rise to the level of harassment or assault, and yet we demand justice. As for the women who have been truly victimized, who we want to believe and who deserve our deepest empathy and respect, it has become difficult to avoid lumping every claim that is made into one basket, which makes each revelation easier to dismiss. That is not fair to anyone. While it is important to believe those who bravely come forward knowing that they will be subject to unfiltered scrutiny, we must also take care to ensure fairness to all involved, be it affirmation for the victim or justice in a measure that is reasonable for the crime for those accused.  This issue has gotten so very blurry and politicized. Social change is never easy. These are important times and we need to get this right. May we always remember that our goal is equality, respect, empathy, and understanding…and not to win for the sake of winning.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 23 September 2018

This video/soundbite…because I need it again and again…


If you followed me this week, you know I spent an unacceptable amount of time working. Mind you, I am not an executive, but I assist one who never stops. Because of this, when the rest of the staff head home to their families…to their LIVES…I remain behind putting the final touches on tomorrow’s presentations compiled last minute by others who hit send as they were walking out the door. My only solace is the overtime that will pad my paltry wages. But this doesn’t compensate me for the life I forfeit to a corporation who demands more and more while stripping resources to save overhead.

I hear you mumbling…quit, get another job, change careers. Oh, that I could. But the truth is, I am 5 short years from retirement, unless they push the age closer to grave. To the government it’s economics of course. The Social Security powers that be, namely congress who diverts our hard earned contributions into tax breaks that pad the pockets of their wealthy benefactors…but I digress. As I was saying, surely they are hoping most of us will die before we dare try to collect the money we’ve paid into the system for decades. And who am I kidding. After raising 4 children on a secretary’s wage, supplemented by forays into furniture and jewelry sales, waitressing and cashiering, I’ve not amassed a sizable enough retirement nest egg to sustain me. I’m not alone. There are millions of people like me. The best I can hope for when the time comes is downsizing in order to afford living on a reduced income and landing a mindless gig greeting shoppers at a big box store to pay, if republicans have their way, for the preexisting conditions that healthcare won’t cover. Forgive me for breathing. I’m getting too old for this shit. Is it any wonder I vote for the other side. I’m no snowflake!

Sorry for the downer. It’s raining and I am exhausted. I spend Saturdays sleeping and Sunday’s dreading Monday. And I wonder what did I do wrong to end up here. The answer of course is nothing. A lifetime of hard work, honesty and loyalty only pay off for a select few. And most of them don’t need to work. those of us at the bottom do the heavy lifting for them.

And yet, I find time each night to write. It has saved me many times. It doesn’t pay my mortgage or keep the lights on, but it feeds my soul. In the end that is what matters. And no one can take that away from me. Those beautiful, beautiful words are mine to do with as I please!

So, hang in there. (I say to myself as much as anyone who is listening). None of are getting out alive, but there are moments to be savored while we still breathe.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 23 September 2018

soft murmuring
barrels of booze
the one thing I know
give it time
I hope you’re listening
fill the darkness with music
oh what tangled webs we weave
writing quells the madness
in fragrant wisps, our savagery
too short, two days, deadlines looming
rainfall is a beautiful sound
it came, then vanished into sawdust
apathy’s minions

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.