i have never thought to lie on the porch with my cat
she was born to be here- where the pompous plastic bags rehearse their white, windy dance over trash can and rusty scooter.
the wheels on the bottom of the basketball hoop- i never knew
they were designed like that. with hollow shapes
and treads, the faded black geometry- it's sweet.
i tear the pudgy little leaf of a succulent open- there's the water-
green with defined chlorophyll bubbles. so that's how they stay colorful and fat forever...
i am welcomed by the crispy ancestors of pine needles and old speckled seed pods,
scraping out brown hellos, they drift against the porch to make room.
and my cat, with her silent round paws, she shares these colors
as if the sun painted everything with one dirty brush-
or perhaps it dumped its paint water here,
washing the place tan and grey and sandy brown.
she could be a pile of rocks, but she's soft
and her nose is wet with peace as she kisses my elbow.
highway sounds and the telephone seem to be somehow
the same distance away, i hear them so vaguely.
(2.1.18)
