3.22.2016

Rumspringa

Four blocks walk box key
pocketed anticipation
is a funny thing reminding
me of my feet. Sullenness
dissipates step by step
daylight brightening in
proximity with letterbox
lineup. Endless containers
bills circulars contents
of the heart yours
adorned x & o party
girl lacking context loses
meaning in early years.
It was the eighties after all
everyone walked on sunshine.

Sharing on The Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden.

3.14.2016

Constant Companion

The cat jumps up into my lap
and settles in. Good morning,
all is cozy here in the kitchen
under pattering rain. She purrs
like a mourning dove, grips
my thigh with gentle claws,
cocks her head back to gaze
at me through half-closed eyes.

It’s as if we two were all
either of us needed now, always.
I rise for more coffee, my cat
at my bosom, rock her like a baby.

3.09.2016

Really Put My Foot In It This Time

Cut off my own feet. My whole left foot and just the front of my right sat on the table. Toes wiggled on their own. Still walked around without much trouble. Panicked when I thought I lost one, but soon found it in a pile of papers and magazines. Then realized I would be required to see a doctor to get it reattached, and experienced much anxiety about how I would explain

choosing
to amputate
my own feet

What? Sharing at The Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden.