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Kathleen Sullivan Isacson

Date of Birth: 1969
Location: Chicago, IL
Webpage Address:
Published in: Red Rock Review, Zuzu's Petals, Recursive Angel, AgD, Conspire, etc.



This winter comes with slow, troubled grace.
Its snow is an erasing second hand sweep
that repeats and deletes each color beneath
deep amnesia sleep.

The coldest season has found me
waiting for a latent child,
the inevitable pain.
I have forecast the changeling creep
into unsheathed trees,
its draft through cracks,
a crouch at my bedside closer than dreams.

Each morning whispers
warm poison into my icicled ear.
The child of little light
questions where I've been,
follows where I go.
It has expected my warmth,
rising slow to my fall,
sleeping two seasons long.
It has grown within frost
and will die before I thaw.


Spring calls out, awakening
many colored beetles
who roll earth into perfect spheres,
tiny planets to hold their young.

I am a soil that grows
only errant weeds
greedy for space to take root,
reaching beyond night
to cover darkness
with a denser black.
Dissecting exploration
has taught me
I am all
tilted and elliptical parts.
To become straightened light,
my voice will have to deepen,
my bones must be eaten
and I know I will stop
turning with each season.