Kiley Brockway, Robin’s Egg, 2021
Digital photograph
Howling outside the door. Stray cat, his charcoal stripes sunken, lets me
feel his neck for collar or chip, then flops into my arms. Eats three
bowls of food before he sleeps. My oldest begs for a dog, my youngest saves
birthday money for an angora rabbit, and there will be baby chicks, peeping incessant
except when they sleep. I know—the constant
sweeping, the mornings with frozen grass and water bowls to break the ice
from, the vet bills, the mess, my god, the mess, the fence that will have to be repaired
each season, the hissing and growling, the feathers on snow when the foxes come.
How can I tell you.
I was desperate for one
or two beings that could
be pleased,
for one hunger
in my house
that could be filled.