My cat Ellington died on Tuesday, he was a gentle soul.
I know in this world at this time many people are dying, carried away by virus or violence. Do not think I do not mourn their loss. I do and the inequality in access to resources that cause their deaths.
Every death reduces me.
Here is a poem for Ellington.
at such times as these
not even sleep holds comfort
I alternate between lying awake
and dreams that parade anxieties
so rise without the usual benefits
to sit in a silent kitchen
huddled around a cup of tea
that does not taste
outside the day goes about its business
one little life less
He will be missed.
On Monday I participated in a Zoom poetry workshop organised by Happenstance. It was based on poems from The Deal, the latest book by Annie Fisher.
I use the guest bedroom as an office. We have not gotten around to redecorating it yet. It is on the list after the dinning room. It is the only room in the house with wall paper.
One of the prompts in the workshop was to write about a space you knew.
I produced this:
the title of this room is: man in an impersonal space
note the wall paper, never his choice
and that mirror, too long by far
the bed that has followed him from house to house
the wardrobe arrived with his wife
he never liked it
the carpet will go
along with the wallpaper
the wipeable whiteboard behind his head
is for your comments
but please observe health and safety guidelines
and wash your hands before and after use
Here is Al Stewart.