I Want to Cup the Sunrise in My Hands - Kathrine Yets


Pallid Sundays without him.

Cerise sunrise pools outside my window

into amber, drips of sun gem’s gusto

in a rippleless puddle.

I enjoy none of it.

But once he’s here,

my mind fractures into kaleidoscope—

chapel stained-glass windows

at 6 in the morning

when only the pastor is praying.

I am yellow. I am cerulean. I am silver.

I am orange with crimson blotches, burning

his retinas.

                            Why are you mixing every color in the clouds? he asks.

My dear, our world is a crystal’s aura.

Don’t close your eyes.






About the Author

KATHRINE YETS lives in West Allis, WI.

She spends her nights as a closing librarian, who hides behind her desk reading and writing.