“Shoo!” I say to the crow, the raven,

Even the sparrow on the porch

Of my hut in the woods

Feeding, on the bread,

The possum’s leftovers

She passes me a look, the sparrow

Subtle, weightless, proud

So weighted on me’

For she was just eating

Eating, the pecking sparrows,

Nibbling squirrels

The quaffs of the monkeys, biting

Deep into the yellow fruit

Their privacy, the etiquette of food

And delicious mouthfuls of water after

The weight of the sparrow’s look

On my shoulders has stiffened,

They are bent low, sloping

They do not remain rising

Upward, precise, intact; neither

The satisfied lapdog I have

I have pleaded him to eat,

With gratitude, I pray

Like a child, a portion I have

I have to feed him by hand

My hand drips in milk

And raw nails break, as I

Cut the cherries into two

For my nephew’s birthday party

He’s turning nine years

My brother calls the landline

And prays with me,

The supper lays waiting

My dog takes a bite from my plate

Guess it tastes better, much better

I feel more full, fuller

My wooden cabinet reeks of the vanilla

Extract in the cakes, I bake

I bake in pleasure, preferring the icing

Done by another,

Feels external, expensive

The celebration, in homes, housings, hotels

Officialdoms, and government agencies,

Then contrary, jail cells, old-age homes,

All food, brews, dessert

The cake smells wonderful

The possum smells it too,

In the night, before bed

I leave a big piece of it, on a blue

Disposable bag, acting as wrapping paper

He will find it, untouched, fresh

Maybe he shares it with his babies

In the dark woods

Like a fairytale, a possum’s tale, true

And he may leave the leftovers again


For the sparrow to feed on,

My shoulders rise, up, straight

What are you looking for?