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.
