Solace

The heaviest clouds are memories now,
and each thorn gives up its rain.
I dreamt I saw your shadow,
a flicker at the edge of the meadow.
Every step took me hours and hours,
and when I reached you you had gone.
In the trampled grass where the deer makes her bed,
a damp and budding bouquet: peony, lavender,
strawberry, thistle.
These are the flowers of my heart,
and in new sun they will bloom.




Written by: Kate Horowitz

Presence

I could be blind on this gold day,
not know the honest sun
save for its tender warmth.

I could be deaf as a desert stone,
not know the drowsing murmurs
of one lamb to another.

I could be mute and never tell
another soul the size and shape
of all these breathing beauties.

But I couldn't be here, in this sweet meadow,
and not know your love
by its scent. There is no life
without this bounty, there is
no day without fruit.

By Kate Horowitz

I got chills when I read Kate's poem. I made me see the painting differently, like I was looking at it not as the artist, but as an audience.

Lily of the Valley

I sleep late. The lawnmowers
do not wake me, nor the landlord's
angry wife. The light
finds my eyes gently,
as the rain begins. The house
is empty. The bright street,
deserted. The comforter
has been rejected, a cool white dog
at the foot of the bed.

All the clocks are wrong or gone,
I guess he took his with him. I force open
a window. It is time to start the day.

by Kate Horowitz

I'm glad for a little collaboration with Kate. It just makes everything more flavorful.

Thistle, a re-post with poem

T h i s t l e

Hard work, love that endures hardship, defiance, protection

I never saw my mama’s feet sleeping.

Mornings they trod a triangular path:

garden, fire, table.

Mid-day she walked in circles sewing,

mending our dresses as we read our lessons.

As the sun set she strode through the fields,

barefoot among the thistles to bring the cows in.

When the stars made pinpricks

in the black ocean above, her heels creaked

a half-moon of floorboards around our big bed.

I dreamt every night of fragrant weeds and grasses,

knew that when I woke

the footsteps below would always be hers.

by Kate Horowitz

I am so excited to be collaborating with Kate. Her poetry is astounds me...again. Here are two of my latest favorites. I could paint a whole show using just these two poems. Thanks Kate.

Kate Horowitz

Three Seeds (Perspehone)

"Before you go," he said, "Eat these."
His palm was rough, black with soot,
and three rubies glittered there, perfect drops
of blood.

He would not meet my round eyes.
I assumed grief and accepted his gift; the hot winds
of deceit had never known my petaled face.

The earth opened above us,
and a golden arm came through
to draw me up.

I closed my mouth, bit down
and felt all my convictions
running down my throat.
I swallowed.



Melodramatic Moon
(Library Parking Lot, January Fifteenth)

"You're how full?" I asked.
"Half," she said, "Half, I am half-
full." She turned away.
Snowflakes blew toward her face and,
reaching her cheek,
disappeared against the expanse of white.