carlin katz
love poem with english ivy
Sated, I step out of the forest: cheeks pink,
moss in my hair. I’ve been performing
my devotion all morning--sawing the ravenous
ivy at its root, ripping its suckering green fingers
from the trunks of my beloved cedars and firs. Unlacing
the oak, then losing my hat, my fists hungry
for the tangle of vines, sweat-dark
hair and sweet earth pang of dirt
in my mouth. I hung from the rope of ivy, giving
my whole weight to its release,
the way I’ve always done with love:
headlong, trusting--
if only for now—the satisfaction
of muscle and blood.
moss in my hair. I’ve been performing
my devotion all morning--sawing the ravenous
ivy at its root, ripping its suckering green fingers
from the trunks of my beloved cedars and firs. Unlacing
the oak, then losing my hat, my fists hungry
for the tangle of vines, sweat-dark
hair and sweet earth pang of dirt
in my mouth. I hung from the rope of ivy, giving
my whole weight to its release,
the way I’ve always done with love:
headlong, trusting--
if only for now—the satisfaction
of muscle and blood.
Carlin Katz (she/her) is a practicing mother, animist, and poet. She makes a home with her family on traditional Chinook land in SW Washington State. Her work has appeared in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts and One Art: a journal of poetry. You can find her in the woods. IG: @carlinkatzpoetry
