somedays
poets read about birds while I cut out a sewing pattern
the fabric should be washed before it is cut
poets say thank you thank you thank you while I
reread the instructions not sure how to read the sewing pattern
not sure reread watch a video explain exactly how to read the pattern
nothing warms like wool
nothing holds together like thread woven into fabric
fabric is the world’s greatest invention
there I declared it
afraid while Matt reads poetry in the other room
our internet is not strong enough for me to join the zoom room
I listen from the other room through the door smoothing my hands
over the onion skin
of the sewing pattern jealous out of my mind
rereading the instructions while poets invoke bears
Matt says Paul and I say Cleopatra
his hero is a mathematician
mine is a dead queen
somedays house words are enough—washing
so much washing
food food to be selected, bought, cut, washed, heated,
mixed—waited on,
spiced, and stirred over and over.
then eaten.
the birds show up first a magpie then the crow
words and their names hang in the doorways
not angles just white worn dresses stained with mulberries
bitter and mocking like the jay who shows up late