Because I have not written my own poetry for a long time, and because this one is oh so appropriate today. For
Brigid. Merry Imbolc!:
February
Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It's his
(
Read more... )