ISSUE: Winter 1992
Whose room is this?
What lucky soul’s bedroom has a lake
deep as my closet
and a bed canopied by a willow tree?
I like sleeping in shade.
Mother’s hand on my forehead is a blessing,
no malice in my heart.
Pneumonia, pneumonia, just what I dreamed,
like when I was little and wouldn’t breathe.
Everyone circled over my sheets,
she had 3 heads, she had none.
I wouldn’t see straight for a week.
The cats are fighting. Mama Cat’s
climbing the willow, she’s dripping milk,
he’s biting their necks.
Will Papa Cat eat the kittens?
Will he drop them in the lake?
Can he open the closet door with his little paw?
Three in a basket, is she carrying them away?
