by Rebecca Bowman

A dozen cats follow me

     from the porch

           to the dumpster across the barnyard

The world loves you when you’re young

I’ve got a trash bag

     half full of ham scraps   what was left

           then scraped off plates

This is a gift

It’s clear which

     cats were once kept home

            made to know people

                 and which were not

There is no

     expectation I will give more

Therefore   a gift

The sky is already so full

     so flat any bit of light strikes one as glare

In less than an hour

     the sun will be set and

            we’ll all be fed   thank God


Rebecca Bowman is a writer based in Brooklyn.

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