dancing around in my
kitchen, trying not
to step on the cat. Round and
round, inside the grove of plants
I’ve potted like
to ward off evil. An aloe
and a cactus and
I don’t know the names the books
give these lovelies. I just call them
Joe and Jack and Jill and
Peg, my darlin’ by the door,
with your bent body and your tremulous
leaf. Here we are,
until we’re not.
Dan Richman is a San Franciscan, a builder, a poet, and a taker of long walks. He’s published three novels, two books of poetry, a memoir, and a book on Greek Myth. Besides writing, he builds bird-houses for the local Audubon Society.