Dodging sprinklers that green grass,

I cross the street, scanning for traffic.

Half a block down, a cat-sized mound

dots the center line. Two crows argue

above in the trees. Cars zip

between me and the mound,

which ruffles black in tires’ breeze–

One car, two pass. Contemplation

from the ground and above.

Not cat nor crow, but a wig

animated in abandon. We nod,

continue with our ways.



World Abuzz

In the kitchen, I make a grocery list.

Windows flung open,

cats bake in the sun outside.

The air  around me hums.

Cats run in,

bones in my head vibrate

in circles.

A hummingbird is in the house.

Whirring overhead, beak clicking

into glass, whirring, clicking.


I crawl to the door, open it


Zipping out, it perches atop the maple next door.

An Offering

Conversation swirls around the bloodmobile,

an iodine swab cleans my arm.

Phlebotomists discuss lunch

over my head as my blood drips

into a plastic bag.

“Vietnamese, Chinese, what’s the difference. Soup.”

I chew on a poem Sharon Olds wrote.

I suck and savor, pull the marrow

out of its bone

with my mouth,

Slide her words

over my tongue.