New Poem

Three Things Happened

first, the black cat slept all day
the fisherman's wife took it as an omen
feeling the swell of life in her belly
the roundness, the hardness, though
there could be nothing there and
she, after all, liked to pretend

afternoon came and she paced
the length of the great hall, dizzying
herself then bursting out into
the snow and the raw bite of it,
with naked hands, naked feet
stretching out the length of her body
ear to the ground, holding her breath to
hear the first heartbeats of living things in earth
waiting for their time

miles away, a woman swept a courtyard clean
covered a fine table with lace,
fluffed pillows in a haunted room
above a stone fire place,
stirred a flavorful soup, set a table for two
and the vases of flowers were so plentiful
she nearly stumbled with the weight of them

some time later
the black cat moved onto another life
the living things pushed up and out of the earth
danced in the sun then laid themselves
down, one by one,
beneath the massive shade tree
the fisherman's wife took it as an omen
as the loenly so often do.

karensaint