Poinsettia & The Equinox &

Summary

E. Katherine Kottaras shares a reflective poem composed of notes from her phone, capturing the essence of personal growth and resilience during springtime in Los Angeles.

Abstract

The web content presents a personal and introspective poem by E. Katherine Kottaras, which is a compilation of notes she jotted down on her phone over a period of change and growth in L.A. from March to May. The poem touches on themes of languishing, change, natural beauty, physical and emotional pain, and the quest for inner peace and healing. It is interspersed with personal anecdotes, such as her student's gratitude for life, the beauty of a full moon, and her child's struggle with a migraine. Kottaras, a writer, educator, and holistic teacher, finds solace in assembling these notes during a moment of anxiety for her child, questioning if the assembled musings form a poem. The piece concludes with a hope for her child's recovery and an invitation for readers to connect with her on social media and support her work on Medium.

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The author expresses a sense of collective languishing, suggesting a shared experience of being on the cusp of change.
Kottaras muses on the natural progression of change, likening human transformation to the cycles of nature, such as the blooming of lilacs and the sprouting of milkweed.
She captures the awe of witnessing a full moon, highlighting the beauty in the natural world that can be easily overlooked.
The author ponders the physical manifestations of emotional pain, suggesting they could be gateways to freedom and understanding.
Kottaras reveals her personal coping mechanism during her child's migraine, using her phone not for distraction but for reflection and creation.
The poem suggests an acceptance of pain as temporary and a belief in the possibility of choosing to flourish despite life's challenges.
The writer's multifaceted identity as an immigrant's daughter, someone living with invisible illnesses and neurodivergence, and a member of the LGBTQ+ community informs her passion for inclusive approaches to healing and expression.

A poem comprised of notes from my phone during March, April, and May in L.A.

photo by writer at Descanso Gardens, Spring 2022

(Early March) They say we are languishing, which is to say we are at the edges — hushed inside the liminal — the poinsettia bloom here in the basin, half day, half night, in March.

My student says that she is grateful to just be alive. The others agree: yes, just that is enough.

(Late March) Why do we get mad at people when they change? Do we yell at the lilacs for wilting? Or tulips for bending towards the light? At milkweed for sprouting forth seed?

(Mid-April) It is a full moon, he says — My favorite thing, he says — Straight ahead of us, as though we could drive to the end of the 105, right to the edge of its glow. It’s missing a part on the top, he says — then he accelerates, turns the wheel. I think it is the clouds.

(Late April) And where, inside our bodies, do we ache? Are those aches stories? Are they actually, perhaps, secret desires? Could they possibly be sources, or gateways, toward freedom?

(Early May) This evening, I have been walking leaf by leaf, page by page, on the earth, over its scrambling fullness, wishing with torrid lungs — for a dance or even for a good night’s sleep.

I have started craving silence since she showed me where to find the owls, in a city loud with wind, tar, and secrets —

(Today) Could we close our eyes and breathe into these physical spaces where tensions pull and pain resides? Could we breathe and breathe and breathe and then try and try and try not to think but to feel to invite in and allow for release?

Could we choose to flourish? —

I haven’t been writing much poetry recently. Not intentionally. But I have the habit of jotting down notes on my phone — sometimes I’ll even text myself ideas or lines.

My child is currently sleeping off a migraine next to me on the couch. This requires quiet stillness on my part, even though I am full of anxiety for them when they are in pain. It’s just terrible.

As my child was falling asleep, they were muttering to themself, “Pain is temporary, this will not last…Pain is temporary, this will not last…”

In these moments where my whole body fills with pain for their pain, I often distract myself by playing on my phone, leaping from Instagram to Facebook to Pinterest, just scrolling and liking and sharing, almost mindlessly. This time, I happened to open my Notes app and found these series of saved…jottings? I’m not sure what to call them.

Anyway, as a way to try to breathe and still my own mind, I have assembled them here. Is it a poem? I’m not sure. Either way, somehow, it has calmed me a bit.

Here’s hoping my kiddo wakes up pain-free…

E. Katherine Kottaras the writer, voice, and co-creator of Yoga with Eleonora on PillowFortTV and the co-writer with Vanitha Swaminathan of the forthcoming picture book, A RAINBOW INSIDE MY BODY, illustrated by Holly Hatam (Viking 2024). She 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 K-12 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.

Check out Katherine’s new series, Yoga with Eleonora on YouTube, which helps kids of all ages calm their minds and bodies so they can respond to and communicate their feelings in healthy ways.

Poinsettia & The Equinox & —

A poem comprised of notes from my phone during March, April, and May in L.A.