Katelyn Bateman-Creative Writing

The Summertime Stranger

I wish I could forget all those times,
you never told me you loved me.  Your skin so tan,
from all those days spent on the beach. Lime
wedges in your Corona.  Covered with sand.

I used to imagine that I was yours.  That
you would change your mind, and we would be
right together.  My feet on the sandy mat
inside your car, your hand on my sunburned knee.

How could I be so foolish?  You said we were just
friends.  All we were ever meant to be.
The Bass turned up so high; my thoughts are a mess,
rattled by those speakers.  You swerved then cursed.

You were always so stubborn, and I learned my lesson.
I look at you in those glasses; neon blue,
and I no longer see the same person…
the words crawling across my lips…”Who are you?”

-Katelyn Bateman, section 04

Tags: 302poetry, fixed-form, section4

Grand Duchess Anastasia

I’ve always been proud of who I am.
Though today I am afraid
to be a Romanov.

These wide, echoing rooms,
never to be ours again.

Prisoners of this country.
Our country.
Father won’t tell me much,
though I know.

I’m aware that the childhood,
I once confidently knew was mine,
Is now being taken away.
Silenced forever.

“Shut up!” “Don’t move!”
They shout at the family,
that they once knelt before.
A respect now missing.

A hand once kissed,
now trembling with fear.

Betrayed and shattered.
In that moment, is the ending
to my story–
A mystery only remaining.

By: Katelyn Bateman, section 04

Tags: 302poetry, persona, section4

Mom’s Cold Coffee Mug

One of many summers spent in the Outer Banks
She wanted the tall green mug
With “OBX” printed on it’s face
A memory of those long days
Spent entirely by those protected beach dunes

She claims that without drinking it
She becomes a monster
Though I’ve never actually seen it happen.
I’d be afraid if it did

I find it sitting in the microwave
Cold and forgotten
In the morning rush.

She’s outside watering the purple irises
Growing tall behind the house
She says they were my grandmother’s favorite
So they are hers as well.
The mug is resting on the washer machine
Next to a pile of fresh, folded white towels

Sitting at the kitchen table
She blows in it,
Then takes a sip
While reading from the book of Proverbs
With purple notes scribbled all over the pages
In between those verses that are most important to her

I find the piece of ceramic sitting next to the kitchen sink
All the dishes have been washed–
Except for that green mug
A faint brown ring,
Tracing the inner circumference of the cup.
The green sponge in the windowsill
Still damp with the smell of Dawn dish soap

The coffee pot is brewing again
The green mug is sitting on the dining room table
Its cold to the touch
Next to a bottle of lemon pledge
With that citrus aroma in the air

Sitting there with pink lipstick on its rim
She has to be reminded where it is
Its always waiting to be warm again, to be filled
To be in her hands again
As she sits on the back porch…and relaxes.

-Katelyn Bateman, section 04

Tags: 302poetry, portrait, section4