Sweeping up the last traces
of you, just now, I pulled
out the furniture to find
stray tufts of fur in levitating
pompoms behind the end
table and the curtains.

This would be how I say
goodbye and a what voluntary
goodbye it was. Goodbye,
cat. See you later, maybe,
cat. Each sweeping motion,
casting you further away.

Like a throw pillow, you
adorned my bed. You spent
hours sinking claws into the
green blanket that I let you
take with you.

Wondered and waffled, I
did, about whether to keep
you and your perfectly spotted

The phrase “I’m just not a
cat person” becoming synonymous
with “I’m just a bad person.”

Should I even consider having
children if I can’t even keep
a cat? Just a moment, now,
it’s not nearly as simple as

I just swept last week, cat. Yet,
your fur accumulates like the
slowest snowstorm. I brush
the floor with the white plastic
bristles, collecting all I have
left of you and contemplating
my voluntary goodbye.

With a jingle and a buzz,
my phone interjects: a photo
of you, snuggled up with some
stranger on a plush couch with
the green blanket.

Look at you, cat. You’re already
planting new snowflake pompoms
behind curtains, I bet.



I was pondering about
what to make for

I can’t quite get
over, not yet,
what it was like
to have a mother
who made me
dinner so I
didn’t have to
have these thoughts

Can you even
imagine, now
coming home to
find dinner conjuring
scents under foggy
glass lids?

And the mystery:
what is it, though?
Guesses made by
vague scents – onion,
rosemary – and
side dishes –
garlic bread?


I remember a time ago
remarking to my father
about the destruction
of trees in exchange
for new (and we decided,
cheap) houses

I said: the mud holes,
cement and sand seem
terrible when there
are houses rotting
down the street

And he replied, but
new houses represent
growth in the market;
a sign of health
for the economy

Luxury complexes with
names like Kimberly
Court and Salter Mews,
bumped out windows
for more space

and the appeal of a
stacked-tall estate
with cats & orchids
in the windows

But in the neglected lots
that fall vacant:
the sunflowers
are king

And Adaptation

The colors in the classroom,
my mother was starving at the snow,
emotional at the film

the way the woman walked
through the diner, gliding
like a vacuum along the carpet

and adaptation: the comfort of noise,
sound, feeling loss.


Rolling hills of Southeastern Pennsylvania


Living in my rented city house
my set of four city rooms

things i can’t change:
several gaps in the floorboards
mysterious with dust
remnants from tenants past

a gravitational yawn that pulls the
heavy bathroom door to crash against
the kitchen wall

and a hallway so matted with stale air
that even my modern day cleaning artillery
has barely made a dent

Roaree breathes softly next to me
paws and nose tucked into the
folds of a blanket
i mistake his tiny dream sounds

as mice squeaks
now and then