The Problem of Hands
By Louise Mathias
And how to fill them
is the problem of cigarettes and paint.
First time I felt my undoing
was in front of
a painting--Sam Francis, I believe.
Oh, his bloomed out, Xanax-ed California.
I liked the word guard, but you know
we made each other
nervous, standing too close
for everyone concerned. All art being
a form of violence
as a peony
Here you come
with your open hands.
My Wednesday was quiet -- well, except when my housemates were growling, hissing, meowing, or clawing the carpet to establish whose territory was whose! We let the kittens wander loose around the upstairs, creating a barrier with cardboard that Daisy managed to jump over but the kittens haven't tried to get past, and while the cats and kittens were clearly nervous and displeased to see each other, there were no attacks or hiding. So I am optimistic that everyone will learn to get along.
Paul worked from home so we could continue to acclimate the kittens and we got haircuts together after lunch, plus went to the bank, CVS, and the food store (how romantic, I know!). We had the kittens in the big cage for a while watching Arrow and Nashville plus NOVA's "Making North America: Humans" (they were more interested in bobcats than in John Barrowman, and wound up back upstairs after meowing to protest their confinement). Harvest season at Longwood Gardens: