Fall, Flight, Coffee
by dbreeden
Gathering myself
Into a porch chair
on a hot humid
morning I hear
geese flying south;
too early
I think for
a moment
as the cat explores
the limits of how
far she can leap.
“Your dad, he keeps fallin’,”
the cell phone says.
“He’s too old to fall.”
In the hot humid
morning I hear
geese flying south;
too early, I think
for a moment
over coffee, then
know it’s not.
