He'd bring
tea
into the room where
the long transparent
pale chiffon blurred
jays and trees. Three
cats and sometimes
4 circled the fruit
wood dresser. I
Imagined someone like
John Hammond moaning
Black Cat Blues in
the hickory wind,
never dreamed I'd
be in huge beds
alone, only books
that slid to the
floor heavy as a
body. Or that
I'd love it
