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.