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Fourth of July

Sleep was sweet.

Half-awake

I felt glad I had chosen

That

Over death:

So soothing and less final,

And I am no Plath.

Now fully awake 

I regret the clarity

That comes with coffee,

My cat probably gone forever

Through a door left open,

The last expression of a lover’s

Lack of care,

Lack of love,

A word this last one

That we never used

Because we thought we knew better

Than anybody else.

On the street,

Turning my head left

Then right

Then left

I hissed:

“If my cat is lost

I am going to fucking kill you.”

Your face remained expressionless

The same it was an hour before

When you said

You didn’t want to live with me after all

Because I get so sad

And I talk and talk

And it is not what you want

And did I not read your body language yesterday

When you sat alone in the kitchen.

I could have forgiven your lovelessness

Your not knowing what you want

What you feel

Or feeling and wanting different things at different times,

Because I understand that well, 

Thursday I had bought those socks

That have drawings of stars and clouds and lightning

And the embroidered words: I HAVE MOOD SWINGS;

But I 

I would have never

Left two doors wide open

While loading a car

Letting a cat escape and be lost among strangers and fireworks,

Whose hair is still

All over my clothes

And yours

The red and white hair

You took great care

To vacuum the other day,

Longer than most people would.

“Get the hell out of here”

I said,

Holding my cat’s blue leash

My eyes red and round.

The next time I came down the stairs

Your car was leaving its parking spot.

I ran after it,

The clueless

Dented car

Which only slowed down for a second

When the catless cat lady

Appeared in its mirror,

Frantic,

Throwing her keys to the ground

When she saw that it wasn’t going to stop.

 

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What I do in Italy

What I do in Italy is cry and eat a lot of pasta.

What I do in Italy is look at profiles of people 

Who are not my friends

And wish they were

And feel like a stalker.

My father turned off his cuckoo clock.

Thanks, dad.

I want to be back in America

Where I have a lot of friends

But nobody cares that much.

What is it about bathrooms?

The reflective quality of Italian tiles 

Perhaps?

I sit down and sob.

This toilet doesn’t flush,

I used too much paper since my face was dripping.

I want a golden retriever in my bed

She’s outside in her heated dog house.

Being here is like leaving all your boyfriends at once

Being here 

Equals being somewhere else already

In your snowy city

Where the only one

Who loves you

Is a cat.

Showing recklessness

Is hardly proof of greatness.

It’s proof of faulty logic,

I don’t believe in budgets

Or outlines.

A foreseen disaster

When there is shortage of money

And time,

Which is what happens in this era

That starts now.

I’m less efficient than

a washing machine from the fifties.

This very important thing that I am doing

(You know: horses and cowboys and vikings)

Is really nothing,

Nothing at all.

It’s 1:30 AM

It isn’t late at all back home

But I need to sleep.

This body needs things

I don’t subscribe to.

My mind,

My mind should learn from this body,

Know when it’s time to let go.