the psychic’s cat

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it has been a while
so i walked into the den
of a psychic reader
she had cozy chairs
a plush cushioned bench
and a short-haired cat

i sat down on the bench
next to the cat
who had tan and gray
patches on his back
ears dipped in black ink
white legs and belly
i could feel energy and electricity
pass between us
we were instant friends

the psychic read me
prodding my soul
for points of entry
accurately picking at a few scabs
and dumbfounding me
with some empty straws
when it was all said and done
she finally decided i needed to spend
half a grand on a spiritual cleansing

wordlessly
the cat said
you don’t need that

i know
i telepathed back
even as I verbally implied to the psychic
on my way out the door
that i would consider it

©A. D. Joyce, 2018

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the cruelest

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lately
if spring should appear
may is merely
minutes away
with a few cherry blossoms
pink and white
frosted over
many green buds
stillborn
and rain showers
cold
gray
not like the aprils
when i was young
or was that a dream
this is why we aspire to ascend
to leave the dirt and dust behind

©A. D. Joyce, 2018