It's Still Life

The Old Woman and a Rebellion of Tenderness

the old woman with no cat
has a pocket full of seeds.

she plants them
in the cracks between bricks,
in every unread newspaper,
in every unanswered letter.

she’ll let them split the sidewalks,
she tells the crow.

she knows how magic works—
it’s just like a weed
that someone decides to love.

it is a rebellion of tenderness:
for the crow that remembers her face,
for the poem that grows legs
in the dark
and walks itself
off the edge of the page.

and the cat (that isn’t hers) yawns,
wide as a gateway—

and the old woman is still here,
watching the crow,
loving the unloved things
on your behalf.