A WARM DAY IN MARCH
Joan Papalia Eisert
kissing the cat
curled in the breath
of laundered sheets
and no noise today
conjures me returning
upstairs in my grandmother's
house one day after she'd left
Times New Roman hing would
come out of my
mouth
my gaping vulnerable
mouth
a cave leading into
boulders
and barricades
suffocating
air was diamond dust
with a red wall
of fire
trapped behind my
you dissolved
you go to hell
