Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Katherine Grace Bond
40 years old
Duvall, WA
Katherine Grace Bond is the author of the bestselling Legend of the Valentine and of Sleepy-Time Dance (Zonderkidz) as well as two collections of poetry, Yielding to Calliope, and The Sudden Drown of Knowing (Brass Weight Press). She is a contributing editor for Beyond magazine and has published extensively in magazines, literary journals, and anthologies. Katherine is secretary to PEN Washington, and serves on the Snohomish County Martin Luther King Jr. Celebration Committee and the Duvall Foundation for the Arts. Since 1995, she has mentored The Inducers of Insanity young writers cooperative. She also facilitates An Teallach, a gathering for interfaith conversation.
The First Lady Invites You to a Symposium on Poetry and the American Voice
Laura has always been a favorite name of mine
I think I met you first at church, Your mind convinced, Quoting scripture to lock it in securely. We scrubbed casserole dishes together, And swapped stories about marriage.
I found out We both have daughters With long, blonde hair.
I found out we both loved poetry. You don’t write it but you love Emily’s trees Langston’s rivers Robert’s road. I said that you should try your hand, Throw some words down, It’s expansive.
I read once At Ladies Night Out. We were supposed to bring China teapots to hold up And talk about our grandmothers. I read a poem instead. You liked it, You told me, but Watched me warily after that.
We have lost touch, Laura and now This invitation in the mail:
A gathering To talk of trees, To speak of rivers. You will pour the tea.
My friend Sam’s The original curmudgeon, Translates Chinese, Lives for words And water.
He says he won’t come To your party; he’ll send poems Instead. You like poems. You told me so yourself.
This morning The party is postponed – Not cancelled. But you have opinions And these poets are clambering for war.
On February 12th, you huddle With your tea, Barricaded in the State of the Union.
You asked for poets thinking we would speak of chestnut trees, Not cypresses. Did I forget to tell you That Langston wrote of blood, Emily of the necessary madness of dissent, Robert of How Hard It Is To Keep From Being King When it’s In You And In The Situation.
Now the poets are storming the gates, Lobbing dead Afghan children, The raped wives of Iraqi scientists. Muslim mothers with dark-haired daughters Scream in through the windows. You needn’t cower, Laura; This is friendly fire.
