by Katharine Kaufman | Aug 30, 2017 | today
I move to feel and inhabit my immediate world and it always surprises me how little I have noticed of what is around me and touching me; I move in order to listen to and notice all that lives and moves within me and to which I become blind in the noise of everyday...
by Katharine Kaufman | Aug 22, 2017 | today
The cicadas are going round in trees of our neighborhood. They stop when the rain comes. And stay silent after rain. Then crickets. A birdcall. A woman across the alley yells, Hey! Stop it! to her dog. ~ At the red light on Lashley and 119 a woman with an uneven gait...
by Katharine Kaufman | Jul 26, 2017 | today
In 2001 I drove an Indian Brahmin teacher I call Acharya to Lesley’s house in Boulder where Japanese Zen master, Kobun Chino was staying. Kobun and Acharya immediately challenged each other and laughed together as if they been long time friends. Kobun said, I make...
by Katharine Kaufman | Jul 12, 2017 | today
I lie on my back in backyard looking at the blue. Two black specks move along with my right eye. Floaters. Tiny blind spots. It seems friendlier to call my blind spots, two birds. “There’s my two birds,” I say, when I catch myself jealous of a friend’s summer villa...
by Katharine Kaufman | Jun 25, 2017 | today
I am walking with poet, Lisa Jarnot down Arapahoe swinging a basket of dandelions, morning glories, blue flax, sage, clover, rocks, twigs, and things for an offering to the visiting writers. Week One. We pass trees we touched yesterday, and touch again. This gesture...
by Katharine Kaufman | May 31, 2017 | today
There is another world and it is inside this one. * ~ Paul Eluard I arrive with headphones and IPod, open mouth, and through an enormous amount of injections, am numbed to the bone. Should I try this sans music, lie back and be...
