Dumpster Divers Behind Pizza Pie Cafe

blackbirds eat pizza

Instead of four and twenty blackbirds

singing to the queen,

four fledgling blackbirds

vie for pizza pie.

The Path I Walked

blackbird by water


The path I walked was

bequeathed me by my grandmothers:

 

we cut potatoes into pieces

and buried them in furrows,

dropped peach halves into Ball jars

to glow golden in the winter gloom,

slathered butter on thick slices

of freshly baked bread.

 

Sometimes, I wish I could again

see the fox running through the field,

hear red-winged blackbirds

calling from the cattails,

and watch my little boys

playing football in the yard.

 

I would scoop up a handful of dirt

and cradle it to my chest.

I would run to the dirt trails

to watch bicyclists go airborne.

I would wait for my husband

to walk through the door,

the sun a burning anvil in the west.