Pressing Pause for Poetry: Karin Gottshall

Automat by Edward Hopper, Oil, 1927

As often happens with poems that I share here, the following poem landed in my inbox a few weeks ago in an email from my favorite poetry project, American Life in Poetry. I was immediately struck by the poem's tone and overall mood--I find it to be made up of part sadness and loneliness, part fantasy, and part searching--for a sense of connectedness and belonging in the world. I've had times in my life when I've wished that I had a sister--especially when I've seen others' relationships with their sisters--so I do understand, just a little bit, what she's wishing for in this poem.

Karin Gottshall is a poetry writing instructor at Middlebury College in Vermont, and has written two books. You can read more of her poems on her website, here. Enjoy!

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More Lies

Sometimes I say I’m going to meet my sister at the café--
even though I have no sister—just because it’s such
a beautiful thing to say. I’ve always thought so, ever since

I read a novel in which two sisters were constantly meeting
in cafés. Today, for example, I walked alone
on the wet sidewalk, wearing my rain boots, expecting

someone might ask where I was headed. I bought
a steno pad and a watch battery, the store windows
fogged up. Rain in April is a kind of promise, and it costs

nothing. I carried a bag of books to the café and ordered
tea. I like a place that’s lit by lamps. I like a place
where you can hear people talk about small things,

like the difference between azure and cerulean,
and the price of tulips. It’s going down. I watched
someone who could be my sister walk in, shaking the rain

from her hair. I thought, even now florists are filling
their coolers with tulips, five dollars a bundle. All over
the city there are sisters. Any one of them could be mine.


Another poem where the poet conveys so much feeling with so few words. So take some time to pause today, to notice people talking about the "small things" and to enjoy the little things in life. Happy Saturday!

Namaste,
Mary Catherine