poetry

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

snapshots

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this is me doing it wrong
this is me running
this is me on the ground
this is me crying
this is me afraid
this is me in the headlights
this is me holding on
this is me unsure
this is me struggling
this is me letting go
this is me in the mirror
this is me naked
this is me hoping
this is me a goddess
this is me doing it right
this is me
learning

©A. D. Joyce, 2018

from ego to ego

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all those petty crimes committed
without thought of why
or what we wanted
kleptomaniacs
taking out of habit
yet wondering why
our bags were never full
now i know
there were holes
everywhere
and the meaning of it all
had fallen to the ground
finally
there is no blood
the wounds run clear water
soon
there will be only light
i will be the sky
full of stars
countless stars
and the two of us
we are even

©A. D. Joyce, 2018