Kittens Are On the Move Again

Kittens are on the move again.

Crawling up the walls, up the chimney.

Poking their heads out of cupboards.

Jamming up the bathroom sink.

God

There are small and large ways to experience God
Small might be collard greens
Large might be dreaming

Pandemic

Please don’t tear this baby from my breast

He is so full of viruses

If he nurses from someone else he will infect her too

Please let my baby infect me only.

Visiting the Widow

I gathered my ferns in my arms and carried them to the widow
She was blind but when she felt my face and heard my voice she knew it was me
Take these ferns and put them by the window, I said
The widow ran her fingers up and down the spore-flecked fronds
Oh it has been a long time, the widow said, her eyes filling with tears
I am ashamed to have forgotten about ferns

Who Stole my Moon?

Who stole my moon?

I left it by the rocking chair on the patio

Now it’s gone

It was my own, small moon 

I used to hug its cool, spherical body

I used to pet it like it was some fat chinchilla

Who stole my moon?

I have a lot of speeding tickets

And not a lot of friends

My moon was the one who listened to me

When I was up at night, feeling bitter

I guess I will put up signs

Missing: Personal Moon

With a photo and a reward

What would I give to have that moon back?

Five hundred dollars, at least

Oh you, whoever stole my moon

Do you appreciate its contours?

Can you smell me on it?

It never smelled of itself

Only of my cologne.

If you, you who stole my moon

If you like my moon maybe you will like me too

Or maybe you will like my smell at least

I could give you five hundred dollars

Or we could go on a date

Imagine us snuggling in bed afterwards

Both of us spooning the moon

Do you like my smell?

Do you like smelling my moon?

It could never be fully yours—always mine

But we’d share it

We’d take it out to see eclipses

Which means we’d be seeing them together

Now that I think about it, I’d empty my bank account

To get that moon back

Except I have to set aside some money for the speeding tickets

So I don’t go to jail

Where they don’t allow moons at all.

There is Little Room for Nuance

There is little room for nuance, little room for nuance!

I tried to fit nuance in the room but there is little room for her

She is a beastie, a small beastie, and we will sacrifice her for friendship.

There is little room for nuance, little room for nuance!

She is drinking too much wine and spouting nonsense

She is non-partisan, then partisan, then philosophical, then anti-philosophical

Her coat is an unappealing shade of gray

We have to keep shifting under her gaze, never quite settling into the sofa

She is a beastie, a small beastie, and we will sacrifice her for friendship.

There is little room for nuance, little room for nuance!

While stirring soup, she makes us question our gender roles

We cannot even open a can of beans without wondering who made the beans

Our politics are in tatters

We can’t make love without pondering socially conditioned power dynamics and potential archetypes activated by the presence of a phallus

She is a beastie, a small beastie, and she lives in the attic and cannot be slain.