A LESSON IN FORTITUDE
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation"
~Henry David Thoreau~
In woods thick with maples
and Dutch Elm dying the death,
yellow-eyed cats taught her resilience.
She used this the day her father quit
swimming, smoking Camels
and making heart-shaped pancakes.
She spent an entire evening beneath lightning,
same woods, calling out to the cat
missing one of its yellow eyes,
the night her mother threw something
through the living room wall
just above the sofa.
Apparently asleep, but actually listening,
a cat can sit for hours until it acts
with decisiveness.
She appears, wearing a cloak
stitched with wind and tears,
a crown of rain jeweled with clay and dust.
Another hole in the living room wall
and we'll put our hands through
with puppets for fingers...
She sits offering her gifts by the road,
knee-deep in soil to spare someone's grief,
listening, husking or bestowing reverence
on a gathering of yellow-eyed cats.
Look twice before dismissing
the cheekbones, the tail or that still-matted hair.
¤ ¤ ¤
BREAKFAST CLUB
Good morning: your eggs are frying,
the grits are moist.
Come for coffee, stay three years.
You won't be seeing red for long.
Meet the family...
adventures of a meter reader on
prescription drugs (mother's dummies
are so lifelike) and my brother wears
a boa - team colors - to soccer practice.
At seventy-three, Aunt Julila still charges
men for favors, the kind you only read about
on weeknights when everyone else
is sleeping or pretending.
Before appointing guardians,
several states send visitors
to evaluate people's health.
Granny said there would be days
like this then showed me
where she hides the whiskey.
