Lori Cayer - amateur's guide to agoraphobia

early notes indicate the laziness of spring
the branches are waiting - I didn't know we had finches
a sparrow crochets its way through last year's grass
under and through, under and through

indoors the radio is a barking lunatic
from my menu of personal options I choose silence
staying in on a beautiful day is more
and less, a constant under and through

I cross the chasm of inches to my office
the cats are a posse of sycophants
their sedulous needs an annoying delight
they root me (under and through)

I choose to stand, elbows on the sill
translating the conversation of crows
the only word I'm sure of—
cat! cat! cat! cat!

passing under their tree

2.

the computer makes a faraway trill
like those starlings in Japan
that mimic the ringing of cell phones

can one get away with
sedulous and sycophant
in the same sentence?

I'm in the kitchen in my nightclothes
cutting recipes out of magazines
measuring windows for curtains

making lists

3.

the crows shred the sunlight
patrol their city, are never
misled by the acres of mirrors
their black radar certain
of that which is a tree

and that which is water-skim
flashed-back picture of a tree
a half-crazed woman
with a pair of scissors deep
in its ragged branches

4.

everyday at least one bird hits
at least one window of this house

yesterday two at once
a couple dancing

the sound of their bodies on the glass
trust trust

dysphoria of morning
their dance paralyzed by light