she slept through sunrise

the cats did figure eights at 12:15- between
bed and dresser; she dove into words,
heard birds, resigned to scrap booking

winter tree looking, dreaming of sunny puerto rico
still thousands without power- a zen center's roof
blew off- still, they met, and did their practice

three hours in the deep of night could be seen
as bordering on fright; she held her own
hand, and let her fear be more fringe than fabric

as the fabric of her life was alive with paizley,
polka dots, bold solid colors, and long straight
elegant lines- held together with a cris- cross stitch

how plaids and florals can be comfortable together
monet and mondrien bedding down in heather
savory and sweet, melted snow and summer heat

impossible to mince words as garlic, or squeeze
an under ripe lemon under an invisible new moon
to bed once again at three am, she carries a tune

words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18