Afternoon in the House
It's quiet here. The catssprawl, eachin a favored place.The geranium leans this wayto see if I'm writing about her:head all petals, brownstalks, and those green fans.So you see,I am writing about you.I turn on the radio. Wrong.Let's not have any noisein this room, exceptthe sound of a voice reading a poem.The cats requestThe Meadow Mouse, by Theodore Roethke.The house settles down on its haunchesfor a doze.I know you are with me, plants,and cats—and even so, I'm frightened,sitting in the middle of perfectpossibility.
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