it is cool in the house...
September cool
the air will warm
throughout the day
then dissipate
there is ragweed in the
breeze
pollen scratching at my
throat
raking through my sinuses...
my head is pounding
the phlox outside my window
a soft—matted shade of fuchsia
climbing the cedar fence
Kitty is asleep on her
blanket
her tawny-gray-head resting on
her soft white paws
the streets are quiet
it is dark…deep dark
it is the middle of the night
the witching hour
and my cat is sleeping
she does little else
she is curled up on her chair
there is a rattle upstairs
and the house is creaking with
the wind
a car rolls past the duplex
bass-booming down Aldrich
avenue
the bars have let out
I am at my desk
writing…fingers tapping
at the key board
clickety-click
the light is soft in the morning
the house is quiet…and the city as
well
people have left town for the
holiday-coming
it is Sunday morning, there is
parking on Aldrich
the birds are talking to each
other
my lady is still asleep behind the
bedroom door
Kitty is in the window watching
the wind
waving through the bright green leaves
of the wisteria
the scent of gunpowder lingers in
the air
the residue of revelry from the witching hour
there is the soft light of morning in late spring
the solstice is approaching,
summer
soon in full swing
a bus rumbles by the window
the Number 4 rolling down Bryant
a cool breeze pushes through the
window screen
Kitty licks a spot of butter from
her paw
a dog is barking on the morning
walk
people are stirring on their way
to work
the birds grow quiet as the rush hour begins
morning sun streams through my kitchen
window light reflecting brightly off,
white boxes
stacked against the espresso-dark bookcase
Targhetto’s faux
wood
the day promises to be sunny-hot
there is a sign in the yard, that
reads FOR SALE
it anticipates the footfall of
strangers
transitions in my domicile…I see
them coming
while kitty sleeps...unconcerned or unaware
it is 4:00 am, and dark in the morning
the house is cold and quiet
it is wet outside, after days of rain and snow
Kitty is curled up on the back of her chair
white chin resting on white paws
I can hear her the low rumble of her breathing
as she ignores the newscast I am passively watching
hearkening to the click of my finger-tips as I type
there is laughter peeling from behind the closed door
the sun is climbing behind a soft-gray-sheet
of cloud
the talking-heads are chirping
about treason...and lies
there are robins at my window chirping
for each other
oblivious and free
it is 5:00 am and the city is stirring
I have been awake for a few hours,
writing
Kitty is sleeping in the window
half lidded and watchful
there are rabbits on the lawn
scurrying in the frosted morning
the news is of the Attorney
General
lying to the Senate under oath
my lady sits on the couch drinking
coffee
we are talking about the state of
the world
wondering...
if there will be justice in
America after March
a blanket of white covers everything
a February snowfall
light and dusty
wailing like babies demanding…white
power and privilege
a blanket of white covers everything
the humming humidifier mutes the demagogue
it helps me breathe
it is 4:00 pm, and the rain is freezing
a slushy-slurry of snow
covers everything
thickening into ice
it was warm today, but the temperature has fallen below zero
there are people outside, without shelter
some will not live through the night
I am warm in my house with my cat in the window
watching for birds, rabbits and squirrels
the Vikings are winning the football game
I listen on low; it is the second quarter
the streets are quiet at 1:00 pm
my lady is reading, sitting in my place on the couch behind
me
the sun was shining earlier
the day is overcast now
its soft gray light blankets everything outside
it is the first day of the year.
