shameless plugging: featuring Katherine Hein

I have a solid group of women that I’ve known since undergrad, who support each other no matter where we might be. I guess it’s normal to stick together after chugging through a few dozen weddings: cloth-pins for windy days and freezing by a lake in June and narrowly escaping death by truck on a rural highway and ad lib-ing through some of the most classic pieces because the wedding party randomly started processing down the aisle. And lots and lots of Canon in D. 

And some of them write the kind of poetry that I wish I could have written, and we understand each other without having to say a word. So here’s my shameless plugging for one of them, Katie Hein, whose lines came across my path and struck me wordless all over again.


sometimes i forget that you haven’t known me all my life,
that you never knew the little girl
that became a not-so-little girl
that became this young woman you call friend.
sometimes i remember what never was
because today is something that i never imagined.
sometimes i forget that i have to tell you about myself for you to find out
what’s in there.
sometimes my past catches up and my present wants to step aside.
sometimes my present catches up and i just want to go back.

it is strange for me to think that you have made assumptions
about me,
but i suppose we all have our suppositions.
i feel i know you where the rain meets the leaves,
whatever that means,
and though i am so familiar,
you don’t know what to think

Winter Contrast in Krakow, Martin Ryczek

Winter Contrast in Krakow, Martin Ryczek


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