The Honey Land Review
Spring 2009
Volume 1, Issue 2

Graduate Student Spotlight
Cathryn Bales
Columbia University

    Mundane Task

    In the middle of making a sandwich,

                    I stop; stand still.

    The dress you wore in that holiday photo,

                    the color of lettuce.

    That’s how I experience your death.

                    Suddenly, the tomato, being cut, bleeds.

    Outside, a leaf spirals down—

                    a dried-out black claw.  

    Outside, the tide is sucking back.

                    The pelican on the dock

    points its wings skyward, stands there, unmoving.

    Beets

    A woman scrubs beets, reveals scathed
    red under a thin layer of earth, bakes them
    in a pan with a little water.  

    This house knows wind too well, cavernous
    as it is, lets the outside in
    to reside within these walls.  

    To remember his sister, a man collects
    dead birds, measures their talons,
    discards them with the rest of useless muck.

    By the body of water, the switch-grass
    and beach heather leap and bend.
    Ivy surrounds and clutches the house.

    The man remembers browning flowers strung up
    with coarse rope around a tree
    on the side of a highway.

    The house creaks under
    the steps they take and where
    they do not walk.

    The washing machine rumbles
    in the basement, shaking the floor a little.
    Through the window, the sky stretches.

    The beets come steaming out,
    one by one, the woman peels
    off their searing skin.
CATHRYN BALES is currently pursuing her MFA at Columbia
University’s School of the Arts. She is working on a yet untitled
thesis manuscript of poems. Ms. Bales is a native New Yorker who
received her BA from the Gallatin School of New York University.
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