12/30
The greatest of these
The floorboard by the door
of this attic apartment is old,
and poorly laid, and the landlord says
it once survived a fire. So muted by the earth
tone carpet, it squeaks when I walk by,
like the milk-whimper of a kitten.
I still look for a kitten at times: my own,
looking for indulgence, or outside
one of the ragged dozens fed
by the neighborhood. Every time
it is only my step. But no shame
to carry sympathy for small things
when I come and go.
"Milk-whimper" is so darn specific and perfect. I like milk in poems. This makes me think of Galway Kinnell's use of the word "milken" in "Saint Francis and the Sow."
ReplyDeletethere's always a bitter sweetness that makes me want chocolate after reading your poems....
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