a handful of fur.
how it fills the tension with caution,
whispered "i will eat you" to the direction
of the stress causing the grab.
she only holds my scruff when she cannot continue
so i look for ripping and tearing.
she holds on, i glare.
absorbing like a tea towel
the desperation so she is free.
i store it like a flash drive
remembering who hurt her.
you.
and the low growl chested
lying in a heap by the roaring fire -
yes i see you.
traitor.
i remember.
this here is the handful of fur
catching the grief
caused.
i am the heart outside the body,
because she has 2.
hers and mine.
ⴲ.
the chipped paint on the barn
was discussed by the women at the salon,
in hushed tones of amber and crimson.
like treacle, sticky against the roof
of my mouth, they smacked tongue
to de peanut butter their chops.
my dream dog, a joke,
bernese mountain dog with a spoonful
of nut paste slurping slobber
on my clean wood floors.
hardly visible anymore: the paint.
chipped off in totality by the hail storm
later that day,
now just grey boards.
and they spoke recently of the fashion
of not painting.
and so: nature is healing.
ⴲ.
hilariously, in the corner, affected by
the bone broth of disease and the wheeze
of my deep recessing core -
i spiced cider in tin cups for the day
a balm against
damp and sour stomach,
which, empty,
frosted like a country cake for a neighbour
after surgery
(her gallbladder out, in need of delivery)
i sat there, staring out the window,
wrapped in wool
brown and ecru
breathing in the ceylon wafting.
a rumbling chuckle,
and the smell of mould seeping
through the cracks of the sealant
ledded panes like oil slicks
against my mind,
the burning leaves in the fields.
smoking.
ⴲ.
no one will bother you. nostr:note1u2sar6g56nrl94vy7cll2q56ustg8hnkp7sqf0ycx53w4w4xfhjq9k9fyl
be sure to tune in to the 3rd party circus.
never underestimate the power of side-stepping those forcing their hand - they will show you exactly who they really are. we simply sat still.