It's Still Life

About The Old Woman Without a Cat

The Old Woman Receives Three Cheers
(A Kitchen Liturgy)

the old woman
catches her words
in her cupped palms—

a warmth
she can’t quite name,
like finding a forgotten cookie
in the pocket
of last winter’s coat.

the neighbor’s cat
(now a licensed emotion translator)
purrs the message
into Morse code:

dot dot dash—
you. matter. comma.

the crow,
ever the dramatist,
drops a foil star
into her soup—
for garnish. for you.

even the worm,
mid-apology to a turnip root,
pauses
to hum Frère Jacques
in her general direction.

the old woman,
who’s built altars
out of burnt toast
and stubbornness,
adds this
to her shelf of holy clutter:

one chipped mug
labeled best insults
the cat’s unpaid
parking tickets
and her laughter,
pressed between pages
like a violet
that refuses to fade.