Katie Finley
Katie Finley Poems
Swinging between them both, their big hands engulfing
my pudgy little ones.
underneath the rainbow tunnel, holding
...
she is still radiant. not radiant still.
unwrapping layers
of paper, removing the bow, flinging
off the box top—I robbed
...
Here’s where to palpate the point
Of maximal impulse, a space two fingers by one finger wide:
It pulses at the fifth intercostal space,
At the midclavicular line to the left of the sternum.
...
burning inside of me, it’s been
a long time coming. smoldering never felt
this good, throbbing fire veins glowing, heat coursing
through the body—a thumb stroked metal,
...
It’s when lines overhead begin to blur—
Sharp angles and sloping arches of an old library
Trying to look older, stained glass unintelligible, only
Black space, silver metal cutting night—
...
it falls gently now.
Pull back the brown threadbare curtains and press
my forehead against the pane.
it chills. ice cream
...
Katie Finley Biography
I want to be a published poet. I live in the San Francisco Bay area and attend college in Boston, Massachusetts, where I study English and Nursing. I have been published in Stylus, a literary publication at my school. I'd be delighted if you took some time to read my work. I welcome criticism and thoughts, I find it to be very helpful and necessary to my growth as a young poet. Thank you. Also, I have a blog at http: //theblindassassin723.blogspot.com/. I post art and poems by published folk that inspire me to write.)
The Best Poem Of Katie Finley
Why They Sleep In Separate Rooms
Swinging between them both, their big hands engulfing
my pudgy little ones.
underneath the rainbow tunnel, holding
my breath. redwoods emerge
on the other side—good, full.
tide; conches rolling in the tide:
flow, ebb beneath desperate,
grasping toes.
the reflection momma’s ring casts,
prisms dancing, miniature ballerinas
on the naked walls daddy would never let us mar.
wearing that ugly, ill-fitting
purple frilled shirt and I smile, teeth too naked
and exposed, meeting momma’s eyes in the mirror:
Thank you. It’s special.
mini earthquakes in his arm as he holds
my hand. because I am special.
a halo of cotton candy, pale pink against a bright blue sky,
daddy lifting me onto the carousel.
big king-sized bed empty when daddy’s in india or australia or china.
the pillows cradling
his profile, reeking of sweat but deceivingly cold.
big cities. cement towers and dwarfs.
grown men sleeping in twin beds.
alone—twin bed—big city.
momma growing older as she hears
his voice; miles of old gray telephone cord enslave her wrists.
weeping on the toilet, grasping
toilet paper in a foolish attempt to erase
raw red half moons.
alone-bathroom-big house.
it’s a circus.
little girl on the dancing lippazan
all flashes of white hooves, white mane, stepping
high. but it’s so hard
to balance.
they weren’t supposed to
let go.
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4/28/2024 9:16:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I never knew that you could write like this. I always knew that you had a way with words and loved to write, but this is really amazing. Thanks for giving me a chance to read your stuff.