Seeker Magazine

Selected Poems

by Kathryn Berit Hoyme



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"Independence Day" | "His Smile" | "Hunting Season" | "Under the Eve"


Independence Day

Flying in was easy,
Sitting on the rocks was the hard part.
I felt closer next to a friend
Than to my own blood,
Five cigarettes away.

My mother (mistaken for my sister) was a poker dealer, even here
With a six year old,
Passing the time with a card guessing game.
She'd hold a card, and we'd have to guess what suit and number.
Though water surrounded us,
She couldn't find a bottle to contain it.

The snake-like waves inched closer
With each blink;
Forcing the sticky, salt water air
Even further down our throats.

At dusk, the fireworks
Blasted marigolds and dancing Dahlias
From my St. Martin Garden.
Sparkling and screaming,
As if nurtured by a florist, and not I.

"I love you," she said.
"I need you," he whispered.
I felt the warm breezes of past summers;
I wondered if the whales were watching.

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His Smile

His smile: Dinosaur teeth of a museum fossil
Found in a small town of Minnesota, 1980
Stained yellow from driving
With his collapsing grandfather

His smile: Chivalrous armor
Once buried in apple pies
While his ex nursed him
Away from Montana
Far away from me

His smile: A glass of cherry Kool-Ade
For all to drink
For her to pour
For me to make


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Hunting Season

Teals and blues wear red
In the falling autumn
White tolerates red in the
Barren winter, while spring
Wears nothing but its green coat

Sawdust covered in shedding fur
And crisp hairs, once fuzzy,
Blankets the aisle floor
In the cold, carrying scents
Of brisk mornings and musty saddles

My legs fit well
Upon a brown back
Our mismatched eyes of brown
And blue searching the horizon,
And my hands, for that last bit of carrot


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Under the Eve

There is a wall between
The rain and me
Like the space between
Horses' bones and the pavement.
It is the same

As moons glowing on poles
Or steam stuck to a mirror
Hiding the reflection within

Know this:
As you know a pipe smoker
Keeps the scent
In his coat and beard

The dew
Will soon cease its flow
As the hymns which hung
Over our breasts-

"Beautiful, beautiful
Are the daisies
In her eyes
As she floats down the river
With her halo trailing near"


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(Copyright - All Rights Reserved by Kathryn Berit Hoyme - No reproduction without express permission from the author)


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Letter to the Author:
Kathryn Berit Hoyme at kbhoyme@meltel.net