Old House Made Of River Stone

  
Because I was afraid to sleep alone
I turned to her.
I turned to her boobs.
I turned to her food.
I turned to singing folk songs too.
In that old house
made of river stone
in that old neighborhood in
Fort Worth.
I turned to my cats too
when they’d go clickety clack on
the hardwood floors in the night
my heart would call out
and I could tell the click and the clack
of my polydactyl girl cat from
the pit and the patter of my little blue
boy cat
there
in that old house
made of river stone.
I could call out in the southern
darkness
and they would answer me
and come lay by my side through
the night
until the morning sun turned the air
into that phosphorescent tone
of orange and white.

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