Pancakes

Not much has happened today. The rain stopped, the birds have been gathering at the feeders and making as much noise as they can. Ursula has been standing guard, keeping an eye out for a neighbor's cat that keeps coming around. The poor thing just wants to be friendly, a beautiful brown tabby wearing a jaunty collar. Zora continues to ask, What? What do you see? Should I run?  But Ursa, just spits and howls and doesn’t tell Zora. Cat drama.

 

Digging through old poems I found this poem that has never seen the light of day. It’s at least eight years old, innocent, still true. I have a number of poems about my children, the boy and the baby girl (Bambina), long and faraway from the boy and baby girl stage. But, well, you know. Poems keep rising up, with all of us so far from one another.  Some old, some being written. Some just teasing at the edge of the heart. 

Pancakes     

The boy with the liquid brown eyes

pools syrup, watches peanut butter

melt and drizzles marshmallows

with cocoa. His lips move in silent

reverie as I recite a poem.

 

Had I known this was Paradise

I would have killed the serpent

and fenced off the tree.