1920

Onyx and I in our plantation
on our new stone porch.
each of us enjoying this new thing
in our different ways.
She, in the sun curled up calmly,
observing quietly what she can
of the world.
Some invisible chain holds the two of us together,
which isn't love but could be either the beginning
or the end of love.
A quiet tolerance touched lightly by disdain
or resentment.
I, forever on the other side of
the stone wall, legs curled up quietly
letting the beer warm up
and the food cool down.
Wondering which old wound will fly open next,
which will seep pus through my clothing.