waiting for my food
i am the queen of this chair
so leave me alone
Black Cat Magic
cats
Blue Morning
invading our walk
this kitty thinks she’s a dog
(Trump’s America)
but we’ll win it back
as i splash blue on two screens
for my kids to watch
Coronatine, Day Sixty-eight (Passages)
she designed this house.
my baby girl, age thirteen.
(she loves her kitties).
she’s my crafty one.
my sweet entrepreneur.
my bright young woman.
and just like her cat
who gives unlimited love,
she will forgive me.
Coronatine, Day Sixty-one
I went to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to write about the nightmare I had last night where no one was wearing a mask.
Could you imagine, three months ago, having a nightmare about people not wearing masks in Target?
Actually, King Soopers was well-stocked today. Everyone I saw had a mask on. People at 8:30am obeyed the one-way aisle rules, and best of all? I stayed within my budget.
I made a budget for my post-work husband, starting at the beginning of May. $200 a week. It may sound extraordinarily excessive, but we’ve got six mouths to feed, and these are American prices, after all.
But I bought extras today. This bugleweed. A roll of packaging tape. And sushi because fuck Wednesday cooking.
And, my nightmares should end soon.
Because my post-work husband got a job, a non-union, non-seniority-screws-you job, doing exactly what he’s great at and wants to do forever, in the midst of a pandemic.
And.
And you can call it what you want. White privilege. True. Luck. Absolutely. Divine intervention. Maybe.
Or just… fate. The fate that led him through the Air Force to me, that led the boy to our doorstep, that led three beautiful daughters into our home, that led his previous experience to him becoming the best candidate out of all the others being laid off.
Coronatine, day sixty-one. It’s a beautiful image filled with pets, hope, and love.
And I want to hold on to this non-nightmare feeling for as long as I can.
And.
This cat was born to be a model. Good night.
Coronatine, Day Fifty-seven
if i could be a cat
curled into this ball on a bed
unaware of what noise could keep me awake
unaware of human suffering,
of parenting four teens too afraid to talk to each other,
too afraid to talk to me,
too afraid to build relationships
(so much like their mother, their father, this fear)
(but he isn’t even ours, how is he so much like us?)
unaware of the world outside of this fluff,
this sumptuous, protective ball of fluff,
maybe i’d be a cat.
but i’m only human
and have brought these girls into the world
and this boy into our home
and the world came corona-crashing soon after
and we only have each other
in this lonely, empty house
in this loud-mouthed, angsty house
in this loving, hating house
we don’t have this bed, this softness, this protection.
we can only find these feelings in words.
small gestures.
trying to speak new languages.
trying to see who or what we don’t notice.
trying to find this level of peace,
this cat-comfort peace,
with each other.
Coronatine, Day Fifty-three
we flew this beach kite
on this day seven years back
(a dream in life, Spain)
my daughter, then ten
still finding joy in small things
(as i still try to)
aspen trees at dawn
a pup always by my side
cats learning to love
the kite is gone now.
(i have ransacked every room)
locked down, we let go.
Coronatine, Day Fifty
a pet pileup
baking with friend from China
survived day fifty
Coronatine, Day Forty-six
i have given in
(quiet days, spring sunrises)
one cat at a time
Coronatine, Day Forty-four
bike rides and cuddles
(made it through another day)
pets will save us all
Coronatine, Day Forty-two
we got a new cat
because sweetness breeds sweetness
and i’m just crazy
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