lost & found

Lost and found

New words—familiar sounds

Old habits

Die in the yard.

Out of the corner of my eye

there is a brown rabbit

whose gotten ahold of my bicycle cards.

So.

Bound by blood: I flip open the good book

to see the oracle’s message

To aid in a traveler’s safe passage?

Foretell another birth?

Or just be one of God’s jesters for a moment

page 66 “standing shoulder to shoulder staring at a painting of a massacre”

Well.

I found a cast-iron skillet for 5.99

Unseasoned. I’ll have to work it.

I can hear my granny whispering in my ear

We’re out of thyme we’re out of thyme

Where we ever working with a working clock? When?

It’s always been a sundial for me, Baby

and a birth bath full of worms

These hours have never belonged to me.

the mound of blue salt on the table done turnt brown

I hope I get to live to see the death of tiktok

I hope we live long enough to live in the caverns where billionaires’ skulls cave in

Hollowed by rising tides—slowly carved out by the sea of by children’s blood spilt

only for them to spend another eternity alone in their cold finery

Maybe we can all find some ack right then

Despite my spells, the boys’ cat never came back

Must be in another life

in another house

Eating someone else’s left over tuna

No means of return.

for that voracious sprite.

All cats go to heaven—and here that would be Peggy’s porch. But she was not there last I looked. Every other cat in the county is up in those magnolia trees—but not her striped belly.

So.

There’s a stale offering on the ancestral altar.

There’s a stripper pole in my kitchen.

We drink coffee together while I work it in the morning.

And I know—I ain’t the first of us to percolate.