My cat’s interest is peaked by anything resembling the
slick plastic crinkle
of the treat bag.
It’s the only time she will approach me.
Besides when I actually have the treat bag.
Then she is a tiger
prowling around the corners of the kitchen.
The depths of her eyes are eerie green pearls
with shiny granite centers
slowly meet mine
that blue ball tinkling around her neck
as she turns her gaze towards me.
She can tell that I’m high.
At the computer
my mother is checking her mail
slowly
clicking
scrolling
click
click
she is hunting
and
pecking.
Mrs. Palese, my third grade teacher
would have been displeased
because we always kept
all our fingers on the keys
asdfjkl;
I think I’m one off
Now she’d be staring at me sternly.
A stern look.
Her eyes are just pools that my memory
can not fill
but I remember her hair
and I remember the time her husband died
and we each made a casserole everyday
as if lasagna would hold her at night
and tell her she looked beautiful in the morning
before she brushed her hair
or washed her face.
I remember she gave me my first communion.
I would get another stern look for my
Lack Of Capitalization.
But I would care just as much
as I did when that wafer
hit my lips.
I’ll give you a guess.
My mother is still checking her e-mail.
It almost seems impossible that she
is concocting real words
with that slow ebb and flow of fingers.
But finally,
the sun is almost up,
she is done
See you tomorrow, sweetie
she whispers,
like she could wake anyone up
because it’s already tomorrow
and she’s getting confused.
The quick rattle of pill bottles
and she’s gone.
And maybe I
the time
stretched
a
little
because
there are still five hours
until dawn.
