“17/30” by Kait Rokowski

The people I love
Are scattered across this country
Like an urn of ashes
Poured into the wind
Needless to say
I’m no good with goodbyes

When I spoke at my grandfather’s funeral
I read a quote I found on the internet
Because I was at a loss
I was an empty pitcher
Trying to pour another glass
Everyone said
I had such composure

We all hollow differently
Some cry like a thunderstorm
Others forget how to hold their own frame

I lose my language

I have said goodbye to you enough times
It should be as simple as a bicycle
Or a shoelace
But it never is easy
It never feels right
So keep doing it again & again

Kait Rokowski, “17/30”

6 thoughts on ““17/30” by Kait Rokowski

    1. Needless to say, I’m no good with goodbyes.

      Sigh.

      And Kait is so young to be so wise. I swear Mary, some of these 18-23 year olds have poetry roaring like raging rapids through their souls. Meanwhile mine is a lazy fishing hole with the occasional nibble of a catfish. On lucky days, I reel them in, but usually they just steal my bait and swim away.

      It may be the same fish that continue to nibble. Perhaps my fish are no good at goodbyes either.

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      1. I hate goodbyes. I’m an absolute coward.

        18-23?! This person is young. I’m with you on the poetry aspect. I just wrote a poem. It took me two days. But, yes, absolutely on the raging rapids compared to a piddly fishing hole. I feel EXACTLY that way.

        Speaking of fishing, how was Aruba?

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      2. Aruba was absolute heaven. Sun, sand, beach, and blessedly divine food. I felt so relaxed there, but now I need a vacation from my vacation.

        Loved your poem. My heart nor my stomach lives on metaphor. Give me sun, sand and ice cream.

        I hope you’ll write more poetry. It too is muscle that gets stronger as flexed, if the soul was a muscle, you know?

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      3. “mine is a lazy fishing hole with the occasional nibble of a catfish”
        Even your responses are poetry!!

        This was really good and, like you, am at a loss for how so much could be inside so few years. I’m 47 and finally feel like I have something to write about! I was too worried about hopping on the first horse out of town when I was 18 to worry about the meaning of life.

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      4. I remember churning out page after page of angsty poems and letters, but I don’t remember then being anything like the young Tumblr poets (yes, I’ve labeled them, perhaps unfairly, but it’s meant as a compliment). I was writing monosyllable goth pieces, these ladies are writing modern Shakespeare, lol.

        I guess it’s a subset of our souls that goes dormant if not used. The good thing is apparently we can wake it up. 😉 xo

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