filled with hot pear juice—
now colder, still just as sweet
*
In the dark on the way home
an orange and white cat
glowed, paused, looked at something
then slipped between the bars
of a gate—its home?
*
After three straight days of rain
it’s still raining but now the walk
to the supermarket’s changed—
two branches
make a low-bridge of green,
green leaves and bright purple flowers
*
I’m wishing for a cold day
only to put on my old, gigantic scarf
*
The windowed door, unclothed by the shades
and curtains
makes a box of light on the wall—
shaving off bits of my hanging hats,
as if it wanted to highlight
the brims
*
It’s curious how I forget
that after the rain
the
and snowy tips
but only because the smog falls
onto us as acid rain
*
Do we all look at each other on public transportation
as much as I look at everyone else?
*
The volcano Chaiten’s ashes solidified because
of the river overflowing and flooding
the town—the life of a plant
or man or woman can be taken so easily
like breaking a newborn baby’s pinky
*
So many beautiful people on the metro
—where do they all go later on?
*
Wet fall leaves are so different from dry ones—
apart from kicking them up
and getting a shoe-full of water,
they stick to their surface like hell—
is this always a sign of autumn
or is this just something I see
as my eyes are almost always plastered
to the ground?
*
The arm of my tea mug is a sideways smile
and an eye—
there’s black through it, a pupil,
or pajama bottoms,
or a big, open hole.
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