By Katharine Coggeshall

Souls in Love

Call and I will echo
Sing and I will dance
Pour into me and never empty
Capture me with your glance

Unleash me when I am restless
Chase me and run free
Find me when I am hopeless
Devour all that is me

Paint me with your kisses
Tangle me with your mind
Entrench me in your caverns
Leave nothing left behind

Walk me to the sunset
Bathe me in the moon
Live beyond the stars with me
Eternity never comes too soon

Death of a Marriage

Man and wife
Hand in hand
Walking through woods
Happen upon a beast
Mane as black as night
Quietly resting on earth
“I could tame it,” thinks wife
Gently approaching
Extending a delicate hand
The beast rises to hindlegs
Extending to the tree tops
Standing silently strong, unyielding
Collapsing to the earth, wife falls
Fear striking her
She instinctively reaches for her knife of self-preservation
The beast is still
No threat to wife
She sees the beast through honest eyes
She can embrace this beast
Or walk away
Her power of choice is interrupted
Man strikes beast
Murdering in cold blood
Seizing wife’s choice, feeding on its power
Man surges
Overwhelmed by his own actions
He falls to the earth
Watching wife fruitlessly nurse the beast
Tending to its gushing wounds
Beast claws at the heavens in agony
Ripping wife’s soul as it laments
Wife is forced to watch at a distance
The last bits of life screaming from the beast
Sharing in its pain
Man pours his power to the earth
Watching helplessly
Weakened to sleep
Alone, wife stands
Wiping beast’s last tears with her open palm
Washing away blood
Her strength buries the beast
Deep beneath the earth
Above, wife sows three seeds
Wife turns
Walking away forever
Alone, man wakes
Tears streaming, kneeling over the mound
Sprouting the seeds
Symbolic of wife
Unable to turn, man mourns at the mound
Tending the seeds
Now blossoming white
Man grows old
Moss covers the mound
But the blossoms remain
Fragrant and strong
Like wife
Man dies at the mound
Wife returns only to bury him
Next to the beast
Where he belongs

Mending a Broken Heart

I do not fault you, heart
Not for your impulsivity, magnetism, or innocence
Not for intertwining so seamlessly that blood was shared between
I do not fault you, heart
Not for shattering before my feet, landing on solid ground that was all too real to touch
Not for losing the strength to beat
I do not fault you, heart
Not for building a wall made of stone and mortar
Not for blocking out the light and basking in the shadows
I fault you only in forgetting that last entrance to you
From deep within
For forgetting to blow out that tiny flicker that licked into a flame
For forgetting to cool the torch, heating the resin amongst the shattered pieces
That mended you when you were not even looking
I fault you, heart
And I am grateful


About the Author:

Katharine Coggeshall is a young scientist and writer. She grew up in Los Alamos, New Mexico, traveled the world, and is grateful to return to her roots to raise her three small children. She is inspired by nature, deep personal connections, and her own rich inner pondering.