things that are broken.

I see beauty in the

three-legged cat hobbling

on my back porch

and in my shed that has

needed a paint job for decades

and in the way that “I love you”

doesn’t quite sound as good

as when I was sixteen.


The other day I saw her walking

with a cat on a leash and

a huge sun hat so I couldn't see her face

just wisps of grey hair and

stumpy legs under a pleated,

floral skirt


some would watch her drop her book-bag to see if a boy would pick it up for her

and sometimes they bit at the bait

but mostly they walked on by


"Loneliness rocks like a grandmother

back and forth on a chair

can’t seem to find stillness

in a room all alone

the fireplace crackles

the creaking continues

and on and on"