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JANUARY 7, BLUES blues throb, an Achilles about to tear, leave me crippled, torn as the news seems today. Indigo blue, cobalt blue, a no hope blue. Ice blue, nothing sparkling as sapphire but a blue as empty as the nest in the crotch of the tree, all that's left of when birds were singing in it 2. Chopin didn't help, not the cat on the grate near my feet. Liszt doesn't either. Sun doesn't, bright as a split orange or the cat in new light, the days they say getting longer 3. my cat's eyes look green this day the blues handcuffs me I can't move. Cars move past. Bare branches hardly gleam. Who could believe anything could blossom from such cold? The cat finds a slot of light, all she wants is some thing warm too 4. no Saturdays so still I think of the house after my 30 year old cat died, how I noticed each ice click, the heat going on and off. How my mother cooed for her in another house where my mother's white hair lasts in my old T Bird longer than she has 5. my cat's eyes look green this day the blues handcuffs me I can't move. Cars move past. Bare branches hardly gleam. Who could believe anything could blossom from such cold? The cat finds a slot of light, all she wants is some thing warm too
copyright LYN LIFSHIN
Bloomin' Gardens