“Antidote” by Kate Copeland

A fire sunset facing her, thunder didn’t

show, how much she even wished for this

sky to hurt, to rive in two, boiling the river

This house helps her to collect her thoughts,

when cold the enemy, next scene,

next dream.

Fred and Ginger in black white, an army of

finches wings, turns – step up as sallow fawn

against the cotton candy clouds, shred the sun,

head for nests, for the walls, water.

The irresponsible her hits the little eggs out of

the paper flowers, pink yellow green, with

dusty rabbit routes underneath, facing her

nettle necklace

for today. Tomorrow it is the hibiscus who’ll end

up in the kitchen. Frying doesn’t relax her,

cruciferous vegetables to avoid. He told her:

I like onions with my eggs, cinnamon with my coffee.

Might be

ridiculously funny

she still likes strangers too, how she loved him.

In a heart

beat, beat.


Kate Copeland started absorbing libraries ever since a little lass. Her fondness for words led her to teaching and translating some sweet languages; her love for art, water and writing has led her happily to poetry (and to publications, hurrah!). Kate was born in Rotterdam some 51 ages ago and is a housesitter in Spain, the UK and USA.

Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

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