Sarah Katz

 

Sarah Katz’s work appears in Deaf Lit Extravaganza, MiPOesias, RHINO, and The Rumpus. She earned an MFA in poetry from American University and has been awarded the 2015 District Lit Prize for Poetry for “The Beginning of Prayer” and a residency at Vermont Studio Center. Her poetry manuscript, Country of Glass, was named a finalist by former U.S. Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky for Tupelo Press’s 2016 Dorset Prize. Sarah lives with her husband, Jonathan, in Fairfax, Virginia, where she works as the Publications Assistant at the Association of Writers & Writing Programs. She is Poetry Editor of The Deaf Poets Society, a new online journal that features work by writers and artists with disabilities.  Photo Credit: Leanne Bowers.

 

 

PHOTOGRAPH OF SWIMMERS IN PRAGUE, 1912

Three men gaze down at a woman lying on river grass. The woman smiles in a white dress, the ground flat under the curve of her bottom. One man, bending his elbows, straps on his suspenders. Another contorts his body into an L to roll up his trousers. Two ignored children in dresses look on, their heads mysteriously shaved.

 

 

SUPERSTITION

The horse is just galloping along through the woods when he comes across another horse’s leg splayed out on a bed of leaves and separated from the horse it belonged to. Aghast at the plainness of the coarse-haired hock—its incontrovertible corporeality—the horse softly neighs to himself: legs absolutely must be attached to the torso. The horse returns to his village to discuss the matter with his friends, who all vigorously agree that this finding by the first horse is horrid, absolutely horrid. The horse leg forthwith becomes a symbol of disharmony, which now appears in the dreams of all god-fearing horses.

 

 

DREAM OF ARRIVAL

Over there, the crabapple tree juts from an oasis—her pink fruit accessible only to the water- and air-borne—and under reflections of Scottish pine, her half-sunk roots hemorrhage and roil. Here, two sneakered feet watch, bone-hard rocks slipping into chiseled oblivion. You’ve returned from somewhere far away, haven’t you, Tree? It’s a world I am learning

 

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