mean gray cat’s
white socks camouflage
tiny knives–
flick of paw
nicks my wrist if I risk a
path too close by him

i somehow managed

to get bit on the back of

my knee with pants on.

Just ask
this stupid rock
built on brackish secrets:
What can we know of light ‘til cracked
open?

magnet for bees this
            summer.                 sun is getting hot
air warm lava                     &
dew.             body turned lake & salt
water                         here                         not                     everywhere

I tell my therapist

the interaction

made me feel

not trans enough.

She says

There’s no thermometer to measure

what percentage of transgender

you are,

if you’re done

and baked to perfection,

etc.

Each person must decide that for themselves.

hum Skye Boat Song
mow grass with me
sit on the porch
rock a while as we
wipe our brows and
talk about the heat
wonder a little about
life, death, taxes, the
chicken and the egg
how bumblebees fly
who’s on first or
what’s on television
tell me your dreams
plot retirement
thank the maker we
never fought a war
hold my hand if
you want to while
the silent twilight
falls into nighttime
until we fall asleep and dream of each other’s love

The smell of  onions and lemon
Drifts out of the kitchen,
Tired, barefoot bodies
Lie on woven chairs,
Lemon juice coated hands
Stick to every surface, and
The bright, hot sun
Beats down through the windows.

Keepsakes in autumn
remind me of drab moments.
Keep saké in tum.

bring back memory
of medicine balls,
to feed grandmother chung,
i made myself— mashed
sweet-sour tamarind, salt,
sticky rice, bananas— 
placed on her muscular
tongue. (i tasted first.)
later to cut sugar cane
she gathered in her trunk,
then thanked me with luck.
i could use a medicine
ball myself today.
and more of her luck.
but echos of her triumphant
trumpets satisfy for now.

On a mildly focused very hot day,

a breeze might take some of me away

leaving a blurry version behind

as I learn to let my chair recline

This listless puddle that now is me

feels flexible on identity

as my Cat enters speaking on the matter

sharing his truth through mystical chatter

He’ll allow me to daly with musings today,

but wants me to know he has the last say:

“Haze your hot days away if you will,

but don’t forget this whippoorwill”

He beckons supreme as the house diplomat

according to him I’m just another cat,

but not only that, through rain, heat or snow,

I am His Cat—- that’s all I need to know!