I watch small brown birds puffed fat against cold
peck gravel for small sustenance at best.
A finch, a wren, some dark-eyed juncoes wrest
the smallest bit of God-knows-what. I hold
the cat up to the window, where she tries
to follow hops and jumps, small bursts of flight.
We both pretend she’d catch them all, despite
us knowing that is all a flock of lies.
She’s lived inside a house since she was small,
found toddling by a highly trafficked street,
a tiny, bat-eared calico fuzzball
with pink toe-beans on all four small white feet.
She asks to be put down, climbs in my lap,
curls up, then dreams of birds during her nap.
To see what my poetry sisters have written, you can check out their posts here:
Laura (curtal sonnet)
Liz (curtal sonnet)
Sara (curtal sonnet)
Tanita (curtal sonnet)
Poetry Friday is being hosted at Reading to the Core. You can get to the roundup by clicking the box below: