A Hot February in L.A.
On searching for the words

When the words fail, the camellias still bloom.
The hummingbird’s two eggs hatch.
Neighbors gather under the trumpet vine and whisper: “We love you. We are here for you. What do you need?”
At dusk, I open the front window to the coyotes’ songs, their yips and cries.
They must be inside the park or by the river or near the freeway or inside my backyard.
It is a hot February — too hot — and
I can’t hear the poetry when you, out there, beyond the invisible and arbitrary lines of this city, are loud with your lies.
I can’t hear it, but it’s there simmering, waiting for me. For us.
It is patient.
The challenges at work continue this week, but I refuse to let them stop me from writing.
These sweet hummingbirds hatched earlier this week, but then they died a few days later. I’m so heartbroken about it that I can’t really write about it yet. We’ve been watching over this nest in our front yard since early January.
I was told to “look for the lovely,” so I look and I wait, even if I can’t yet see.
Maybe next week.
It’s supposed to rain.
E. Katherine Kottaras holds an M.A. in English and an M.S. in Kinesiology with a focus on Integrative Wellness, and she is a contemplative writer and holistic teacher, having worked at the middle, high school, and community college levels for over two decades. She is a yoga teacher, personal trainer, and health coach while also living with invisible illnesses and neurodivergence, and as such, she is passionate about mindfulness, bodily self-determination, and health equity. As the queer daughter of an immigrant, Katherine believes that holistic and inclusive approaches to expression, healing, and growth should be accessible to all.
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