February 4, 2025

animal kingdom

Liz calls the chickadees her boyfriends. Mornings, I glower
at the squirrel darting near the feeder, say “Hey now!” at each
advance, but really, the little guy is pretty cute, and any sternness
evaporates before I get halfway through my coffee. Yesterday,
walking through the woods, I eyed the snow for deer prints, wanting
the family to appear, come toward me, eat an apple out of my hands. 
Of course, I wasn’t carrying any apples. When do I ever carry apples?
Lately, I’ve noticed the ducks sticking close together at the shore, 
but when I arrive they skitter away, and I see the interference my body
makes among the rocks, the untidy ripple of my footsteps. One day,
I hope I figure out what the cat is trying to tell me when she stares,
unblinking, into my face. For now, I make soft cooing noises at her
and offer space on my chest. “Come here,” I murmur, because I’ll take
all the closeness I can get, and when her small weight descends,
it seems I might be onto something.