Tag Archives: Beth Politsch

“Where Water Runs” by Beth Politsch

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In the place
where water runs,
magic shivers and hums
and shakes the trees
with its incantations.

The stream is a cauldron
of leaves, moss and bark.
It blooms with dark clouds
of mud when rust-
colored stones are lifted
away from the creek bed
by the toe of your boot.

But it is your bare feet
the water longs to touch.
It asks
for your fingers
to try to interfere
with its persistent flow.

If you stay long enough,
this place becomes a voice
in your head.
It whispers
words you’ve heard
in dreams. It tells birds
to swoop down
the brooky path beside you,
because you are
and always have been
the same.

And maybe
if you’re very lucky,
a toad will pause and look
you in the eye from a bumpy rock.
Maybe a crane will sweep down
into your shade
and almost anoint you
with her wings.

It will wait until you’re ready,
this oracle,
chanting spells softly,
listening for your breath,
offering vines and roots
for a staircase,
as you climb down
from the usual path.

—

Beth Politsch is a storyteller, poet and copywriter based in Lawrence, Kansas. She currently creates content for Hyland Software and writes children’s books and poetry in her free time. 

 

“Geode” by Beth Politsch

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The news of your cancer
began a fracture – a small crack
we thought could be patched.

But then it crept outward into the multicolored expanse of time
and spread gray
outward from its edges
like the matte surface of a stone.

I’ve tried drinking
to stop my mind
from trudging
along that deepening fissure
that spans from month one of your illness
to month twenty when you died.

But I never manage to dull the sharp edges
of your truths:

You were too young and too kind
and so imperfect
and complicated
on your surface
that you were everyone’s favorite
sister and friend.

The pain is unstoppable now,
and in this strange middle phase
of my life, I have accepted it
as necessary.

Now I am walking with purpose
to break the gray veil
of your sickness.
I conjure spikes
from my heels
and push them down into the darkness.

I fall to my knees
and my hands become pick-axes.
I claw into the fear until it smashes open,
exposing its crystal center.

And this is where I find you:

In this precious cache
of mineralized memories
you sparkle with facets
both jagged and smooth,
your light and color

reflecting
into all dimensions.

—

Beth Politsch is a storyteller, poet and copywriter based in Lawrence, Kansas. She currently creates content for Hyland Software and writes children’s books and poetry in her free time.