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Best Poems Written by Katie Mitchell

Below are the all-time best Katie Mitchell poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Katie Mitchell Poem

Touching

Walking down the evening avenue,
I look straight ahead, and see
The sea of people part before me. Each
Rushing in their separate directions, not making
Eye contact. I want to reach out and feel
For myself that they are real. It occurs
To me that nothing, no one, ever touches.
It is as if we are all surrounded by impenetrable bubbles,
And we spend our whole lives
Passing, avoiding, maybe brushing, sometimes even 
Desperately touching
Each other—
But we never make real contact.

Surely we are not to blame.
The structure of the very atoms that build this world
Betrays us. Strong cores, positive and inseparable,
Surrounded by a frenzied cloud of negativity.
Like charges repel, and electrons
Will never swallow their pride
And kiss their neighbor.
So our bodies are left hovering
Over the earth, our hands hovering over
One another, a mother’s lips hovering just above her
Child’s hair. Even in our most intimate moments
We are all separated by this thin, impossibly small layer
Of nothingness.

It is cruel, and yet, there are good reasons why 
We cannot touch. 
Touch and witness the crumbling of things,
As the chasms that hold us to together close
And tear us apart. Witness as flesh
Melts into flesh into the Earth.
Witness as the Earth melts into itself, 
Into space, into the greater void.
Touch and witness an endless chain of nuclear fusion.
Witness irreconcilable sameness. 
Witness chaos.
Touch and witness the end of everything
That you longed, for so long, to touch.
All this and yet, the ache remains.
Is it any wonder, that we all feel incomplete?

Details | Katie Mitchell Poem

Love

It is a gift.
Not the kind you are born with,
Like a way with words or a knack for sports or a sense of humor.
Nor is it wrapped up in fancy paper and tied with a shimmering bow,
Delivered to your doorstep with a great fanfare of balloons
And minstrels, all singing your praises.
It’s a gift you have to look for,
But it’s hidden in plain view.

What it really is, is a set of nested boxes,
Like little Russian dolls with their delicate, hand-painted faces;
And each smile, each laugh—
Each shared kiss on a cool spring night—
Each of these is a new layer.
The box is fluid, morphing with each permutation.
Some days the layers come off thin, quick,
Savory, like baklava.
Other days they tear you up like onions.

Then one day, exhaustion sets in and
The feathered demon of doubt swoops down,
Carrying you to the imaginary center of your gift.
You fear that there will be nothing there,
That it was all just a cruel joke,
As you stare down miserably at something too tiny, 
Too absurd, 
To possibly contain anything at all. 

Even when you reach this point,
You’d never walk away.
Some feral desire drives you to
Grasp the edges of this “final” box and pull—
Pull as hard as you can—
Only to reveal another box within,
As full of surprises as the very first.
This maddening cycle,
This is the real gift.

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Symbolism

Sometimes life is not literature.
Sometimes a clock just tells time,
Instead of ticking down to destruction.
Sometimes rain does not fall to make us miserable,
And the sun does not shine for our souls.
Sometimes rainbows are not a prophecy.
Sometimes dreams do not make sense,
And they are not meant to.
Sometimes red does not mean blood or lust or love;
Sometimes a rose is just a rose.
Doves do not always bring peace;
Owls are not wise.
Sometimes a hug is just a hug,
A friend is just a friend,
A word is just a word,
And we have to learn to live with that.

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Communication

Desert met Ocean
Wet mirage, parched reflection
Longings unfulfilled

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Recovery

Butterfly decides:
Rest tattered wing—find comfort;
Fly damaged—find food.

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Streambed

Green moss over stone
Tumbling in shy sunlight
Following the ghost



For "Solace in Nature" contest

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Moving Forward

Something has swept our summer, your face,
Along, away.
Constantly morphing, they cannot be fixed
In memory’s embrace.

There are too many yous,
Too many emotions:
Silly looks, laughter, rebukes, laughter.
Laughter sweeps them all along, away.

Your laugh, the one constant,
A great gasping gust of breath
Chopped into sound bytes,
Sweeps it all along, away.

Think I almost have you,
Puzzle unraveled, repaired.
Then you laugh a cavernous smile;
My hope swept along, away.

You have too many taste buds.
Love and life are dancing on your tongue,
Sweeping you along, away,
Closer to God.

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Interposition

The whisper of a whisker
At my window
Scratches at my eardrums
Like inch-long nails on a chalkboard
In the hot sweaty classroom
Where I grew old
So like a student greets the bell
I greet the reaper
Who stares at me through the glass
Through the night
Through thin slits
In catlike eyes

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Catalyze the Cataclysm

Onward now to vanquish the behemoth
And bequeath the cataclysm unto your kindred
Some squishy doom lingers
On that lithe aquiline figure in the distance
Guttural pinks cannot fathom
This species of maritime tranquility

As anchor splashes into ocean
Waves kiss splintering crevices
Beneath the moonlight-bathed rebellion
Of scoundrels squabbling over air
While the captain slumbers beneath
The bellows of his brethren

Behold! the spoils of the lines
A falcon tarred and feathered
Lashed upon the bow supine
In payment for his prophecies
Which guide the ship beyond the world
To where the phantom doth reside

Details | Katie Mitchell Poem

Catnap

Sleep is heavy on a cat.
For once they are still,
Ragdolls in your arms.
Fur mussed like morning hair,
They snuffle as they purr.