It's Still Life

Dead Woman and the Cat’s Morning Doctrine

the cat—
still not hers, never hers—
strikes across the kitchen counter
like anarchy, knocking over

the salt shaker,
the sugar bowl,
and the old woman’s last clean spoon.

the old woman, sipping coffee
dark as a black hole’s résumé,
watches the cat’s carnage.

“you’re technically a natural disaster.”

the cat pauses, and stares.

“and you’re technically uninsured.”

the crow
drops a stolen blueberry
onto the wreckage—

the cat eats it.

the ghost-robin,
perched on the toaster, sighs:

“and that’s why i’m dead.”