Sonnet # 1

Today was a slow day, people had to run errands so I just dawdled and sat, pensive. And ate... somehow I managed to eat a lot. So this poem I wrote seems slightly relevant. Cameron's grandmother and her dog are here. My gram has a dog that she treats like a baby, and this Gram seems to treat her dog the same. My mom, since she doesn't worry about the kids anymore, treats her stuffed animals with as much care as she would tuck a baby into bed. It's strange. Little girls "mommy" their baby dolls, and the highest rate of suicide is single men over 80. It leaves me with the impression that everyone needs to feel like they are need by or taking care of someone in order to survive. I suppose that is relevant too.


The pears upon the wooden table rot.
The sweet musk basks the room in stagnant scent
Recalling graceful dinners haply fraught
With fragile ladies on chairs with satin covers,
The sashes tied to rungs, as they lament
The loss of proper men and past lovers;
Lowering their sticks of pear in fondue
Of Gorgonzola and onion, careful
To ne’r drip at the empty space left in lieu
Of Alice, or this time, Jane. The carnations
Still sit in the sunshine on the table,
In dust shown through light of The Productions.
The pears becoming stains on the damask,
The cat, full, walking in the deep’ning musk.