They warn me you are likely to die on my watch, and if that happens, Kit Louise, won’t I stash you in the freezer. Until then it’s syringes and chipped water bowls, shoveling sand that has set like cement. When evening arrives, we sit on the verandah, watch the street vanish beneath ancient elms.
I admit I did check the Kenmore, Louise, to see if you’d fit among the pork hocks and bratwurst, noted how tight the space between cups of tangerine cream. Every evening you rise on rickety legs to play gracious hostess, keep up with my suggestions we watch fireflies. I won’t confess, Kit Louise, that your insulin is all gone and when I called your owner about what to do next, he said She’ll just have to fly by the seat of her pants, and then he returned to his margarita.
So, won’t you take this seat on the porch, Louise, and rest your backside on the floor beside mine? Together we’ll watch sparrows wing between streetlights. Study carefully and maybe you will learn how that’s done.
–Art by Joanna Jankowska
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