Thursday, April 11, 2024

National Pet Day

 —Poetry by Nolcha Fox, Buffalo, WY
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy 
of Nolcha Fox


My shadow lost her tennis shoes
while climbing up a tree.
I want to soothe her upset,
I want to patch her bruise,
but she unplugged the lamp
and hid beneath the table.
I can’t find her in the dark.
So now there’s only one of me
instead of two.


Where is the battery
that I bought yesterday?
It wasn’t in the envelope
I was about to mail.
Did I put it in the cabinet?
I opened up the ladder
and found my glasses on the shelf.
Oh, never mind, it’s time for lunch.
I took a bite out of my burger,
and found the battery.


Clouds race and morph through the sky.
Maybe they have somewhere to go and don’t
know what to wear. They don’t notice me at all,
unless I register as a little clot of boredom the
wind doesn’t move, something to pass with a
yawn. A hole that lets the sun blink for a second
before it goes back to its coffee and croissant.

I have nowhere
to go today. The world
can go somewhere for me.


I’m waiting for you at this bus stop.
At the corner of Life and Not Life.
I’m waiting for you to resurrect.
To step off a bus. If you don’t arrive,
I’ll wait. For the Rapture.
I know I’ll find you. When I get there.
But wear a nametag. Just in case.


People will come
to my funeral
to get out of the rain,
get some free food,
and to learn
when they can
go through my stuff
to find a good deal.

(inspired by Mari Evan’s “The Rebel”:


Part saint, part stoic,
part princess, part starlet,
part drum corps of an off-
tune marching band,
part cheap lace,
part toe-clicker on tile floors,
you’re my bed warmer,
my first girl, my worry,
my scaredy-cat, you just
want my love, you
don’t care what I say.

You’re deaf.
You can’t hear me anyway.


Safe within some inner cave,
I hoard fire and flowers,
evening winds and watercolors
painted on the clouds,
slices of the sun that danced
across the walls and floors.
When dark and gloom
embrace the day,
I breathe out in steam
and heat the treasures
I keep buried in my lair
to remind the hours
beauty hides in pools
of tears.


Praise be men
who preyed on my desire.
They told me that they loved my soul.
They loved my body, left me wasted.

Praise be maturity
that came decades too late.
I understood that love and desire
are two very different beasts.

Praise be my hormones
that retired to Florida.
I hear they’re enjoying the beaches
while I enjoy life without them.

(inspired by


Today’s LittleNip:

While it’s better to apologize than burn
sometimes, a crackling fire
is better than words.

—Nolcha Fox


—Medusa, with thanks to Nolcha Fox for her fine poetry and for the photos she sent to go with it. As usual, I have posted an appropriate photo of a springtime fox for her (see below). See more of her work tomorrow on our Form Fiddlers' Friday. 

 —Photo Courtesy of Publlic Domain

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