I lived at the top of a cul-de-sac.
top of a hill—
bottom of a bag.
I had taken to television,
It filled the time neatly.
Me in my big chair,
eating popcorn cooked in virgin olive oil
with too much salt.
Then, I walk into the night —
chilly desert winter early darkness.
The cat follows me down.
She’s careful. She was orphaned by coyotes.
She won’t go far.
I continue to the bottom of the hill,
cross the boulevard to the park
and sit anonymously in the empty
The softball players hammer out
A listless contest in the mist.
Women with big shoulders,
men with bellies;
they swing and jog and bellow
I don’t know them.
Before they finish, I return
up the hill.
I hear her sound in the dark.
She runs to me. We walk home
together, me and my cat —
She sleeps at the bottom of the bed
between my feet.
Someone I don’t know anymore told me
it’s because she likes my body warmth.
I know it’s more than that.