In the photo the girl in the flowery dress looks away.
in the black and white photo she wears a garden of roses imagine pinks, reds, sprigs of green. She looks to the side her hand on a thin strap in the mirror the back of her head – wispy hair spins out of control. She’s tired, dressed for play that played out. He mother’s cross above her head she’s lived with so long she no longer sees. no, she wants away from all of that away from all the don’ts in life wants living without catechism and holy Marys the invisible father, son, ghost. she wants a now that lasts forever knows it never does knows she needs more to awake into a knowing an open door to tomorrow another way out.
He sits patiently staring at the sun-yellow door until door opens to cold rain and ice he sniffs, stares sighs and turns around some days it just isn’t worth leaving sleep but being a cat sleep comes easily my body a warm pillow or the rocking chair or the radiator that nearly cooks his thick fur like the cat today I decide going out not a good idea cold rain a wet blanket of a day like the cat I cocoon in an afghan made in a winter past swim in the pages of a good thick book we journey far away me to my stories he to his dreams leaving this day to fend for itself
Eve Rifkah was co-founder of Poetry Oasis, Inc. (1998-2012), a non-profit poetry association dedicated to education and promoting local poets. Founder, and editor DINER, a literary magazine.She is the 2021 recipient of the Stanley Kunitz award. She lives in Worcester, MA with her husband and cat, Bela. She is author of One Kid a Telling, (Luchamor Press, 2021).