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I became the cat, lounging in the windowsill
meditating on the good things in life
and everything smelled like fresh laundry and sunlight

And then I returned and on the good days I cooked for myself
and it was good and I tried to feed everyone I loved.

I changed my sheets every Sunday
and put honey on my toast, across my lips and in my tea
I even put it on my scars and then, on the lenses of my glasses
I giggled out loud and said
“Everything looks so sweet”

I fell in love with everything that passed me
and everything seemed beautiful
I put on ten pounds and my cheeks moved more when I laughed
and it was a good thing.

I sat in the yard in Spring and covered every part of myself in mud
and cried
and then laughed when the rain washed me clean
I took serendipity out of a drawer
and used it as a holy word

On the bad days everything tasted of metal
and all my thoughts were of you
and my shoes were heavy
But this poem isn’t about that

It is silk
and waking up with the sun
and waking as the sun
it is putting cinnamon on everything I touch
and opening the windows while I drive.

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