334 Readings | 0 Ratings
2 January 2014
This year I will not boast online
of meals prepared; I will not send
Christmas cards of myself in exotic
locales. I prefer to tell you of sharpening
a knife or how I wrote in pen
on a postcard woodcut of the moon
and mailed it. I may tell you of edges,
with verbs that fill the mouth and taste
whole
or this story, how on New Year’s Day
in Uganda, Baby Jesus the cat gives birth
in a midwife’s suitcase to four kittens
who claw the laundered skirt, their mother’s
belly - this story, folded and stolen,
offered on a snowy night as if it were mine.
of meals prepared; I will not send
Christmas cards of myself in exotic
locales. I prefer to tell you of sharpening
a knife or how I wrote in pen
on a postcard woodcut of the moon
and mailed it. I may tell you of edges,
with verbs that fill the mouth and taste
whole
or this story, how on New Year’s Day
in Uganda, Baby Jesus the cat gives birth
in a midwife’s suitcase to four kittens
who claw the laundered skirt, their mother’s
belly - this story, folded and stolen,
offered on a snowy night as if it were mine.
Posted 12/31/14
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