oh, my Friday

she got out her graham crackers,
only to throw them in Greek yogurt.

marshmallows and Hershey chips sat in a blue bowl.

really, it was kind of sad.

she got out a spoon that we knew
would break just as she got to the bottom
of all the lines yet to be entered so anyone
who needed to know got word just like that.

she learned what was taught.

down, like pat.

she got out some broken ice cubes,
awful aim tipping over a plastic pink cup.

Cat No. 111 of the 500 Cats Project

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not at all rushed

I’ve got a feeling
you’ve been told
the same things.

fawned over, so
incomparable.

how many dimes
add up to fill our
modest fridges?

it’s fine to ask
in hunger.

but waiting on
your answer has
quieted the rain.

your truth could
sting the eyes.

all I have that
no one’s seen
in spry delight.

I stand along fine
old curbsides.

ignoring petals
grazing my face
as I fail to resign.

my tongue feels
sore with time.

cars in a hurry
to take a dream
a street too far.

Cat No. 110 of the 500 Cats Project

clumsily, in taste

she ate crème brûlée with the bluntest fork.
this afternoon, her first time.

she wanted to tell the world and its
mother that she finally knew what
she had missed, what she had feared,
and all she could only read about
between walls so thin like the red worn
by crisp, dainty apples washed with joy.

morning is rarely missed, returning too soon
with birds in the middle of gossip’s fifth round
piercing the lightest blue, and she’ll learn to
make some for herself, plastic spoons aplenty
as the clock does stand oh so wonderfully still.

it was never too late for the girl
who shook and cried after an unbroken fall.

Cat No. 109 of the 500 Cats Project