Katherine's Coffeehouse

My homeland speaks in tongues. Gone too far to roll back vein and gristle.

Day seven, warm rains still come, speckled deer restless and asking to nurse,

We hadn’t known she could scream. Glass shattering wail through slats of a muzzle, two techs holding her down,

Or I could write about white-tailed doe, baby of the family still trying to suckle,

I stumble into it, on it, living room jumbled, Lego under my foot— dark because someone actually turned off the lights.

Seventeen days. That's when I will have told him I'd schedule the doctor. It's a goal.

And if you ask me what it is to age, I will tell you what I heard from snapdragon,

Once, I killed a fish. More than once, if you count the 22 goldfish I accidentally overfed before the ick took over,

Today is again a tight uniform, starched collar against us

I am determined to start this day with poetry.