Poetry | Stories | Photography
Your fluffy face comes to me, and I think of the way you pawed my face, a meow, or sleeping beside Daddy.
On the saddest of days, I look at a cloud shaped like your ears with tears of sadness for you, my sweet girl, for you were my Emma, and now you are gone.
The flower asked a bee, “When will the world end?” The bee looked dumbfounded, then buzzed away.
Perplexed, the flower asked a spider: there was only silence.
Then a cat sniffed at her petals. She asked the cat the same question. It seemed to prevaricate any response, then pissed on her stem.
To the string,
jumping in the air,
knocking over porcelain.
Cow manure hides in grass pockets. Pigs dream of staging a riot, while the chickens only care about designer hats. The cat meows, “Bastards”, and the dog barks at unseen things.
On the farm, a cool wind starts up as Bob steps in manure, and the cat meows, a smile, “Idiot”.
