we gather around poems

in the dream, i offered granola-the-cat
the remaning half of my fried fish sandwhich
(the remaining half of sandwich my mom was mad at me
about for taking back after i loaned it to her)
and granola feasted


emory and i plopped on dusty porch floor
passing the almost-iridescent soccer ball
(royal blue) back and forth between us
sometimes in the air
sometimes across the floor


some things i whisper-speak to granola
who’s passed out in sleep
on the wedge-shaped cushion under my desk in the loft
i have honored your life in the best way i know how,
i hope that has been enough

thank you for sharing your spirit with me

and later
digging a three-foot deep hole
while she sleeps
imagining how we’ll shape her body
when we lay her down in

storms-a-comin i say
(or something like it)
as the wind turbine slices up the air above us
at a speed so swift
the propellers almost whistle and whine
gray cloud mass hovering over us


smell of chocolate cookies
hanging in the air
as (i can’t remember her name)
walks potluck-wards
with a pan of baked things
in her hands


a distant thunder rumble
rolls as we turn onto the path near the swingset


tears in joAnn’s eyes
at a picnic table outside the dancing rabbit common house
under big missouri sky
as she thanks me for taking her and caza and morgan there


maybe it’s kindof stupid i say
about crying over knowing that tomorrow is the day we bring granola in
to put her down
but it’s still death and grief
(enhanced by all the complicated feelings
of being the one that with the power to make that choice)


leaning down i ask 15month-old caza if i can pick her up
and she raises her arms/hands towards me


hum of the refrigerators/coolers
in the background
while we gather at the mercantile
around poems (outloud) and a song or two



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