It's Still Life

Dead Woman Boils the Kettle While Contemplating Life’s Divine Comedy

the old woman’s tea
steeps like a minor miracle—
hot water turning leaves
into prophecy.

she adds honey,
stolen from the gods’ own breakfast,
stirs counterclockwise
to spite the universe’s spin.

the neighbour’s cat
(now self-appointed familiar)
drapes itself over the drainboard,
watching her with the smugness
of a creature who’s read all the sacred texts
and found them lacking
after licking them clean.

somewhere,
a bird feeder sways—
full of seeds and restlessness.
somewhere,
a daemon sighs:
not her again.

the old woman sips her tea,
laughs into the cup’s dark mirror.

the cat flicks its tail—
you’re late for your own exorcism,
it sniffs.