bird – Cajun Mutt Press

Cat’s Tongue, House No. One Hundred And Ten

The lane makes a bottleneck.
We have a name for the narrow isthmus;
we forgot that; perhaps the lane’s purpose
is to pour the world into the house at the end,
No. One hundred and ten.
I desire to apprehend if you still live there,
keep the books you borrowed from me
decades ago on an evening remembered
for hidden feelings, fog muffled streetlights
casting unstable shadows of us on my celadon wall.
My mother coughed and coughed as you depart.
I recall you bent, hands fisted, books in your tote.
You didn’t acknowledge that you would not return,
no one could. We stopped and watch a starling caught
in the orange cat’s maw. The cat spoke
with its mouth full. I didn’t know the tongue.

The author of Postmarked Quarantine has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe.
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

The Dandy Lion Collective

1
The greatest changes occur with or without society’s permission.

They said “be a man”, but they were talking to boys. When they said be yourself, they meant be the you, they could consume without having to change. All our lives they said we could be anything we set our minds too. Then they changed theirs. But no one was built for the damage lying yourself brought. So roar Little Lion and I’ll listen.

The greatest changes occur with or without society’s permission.

2
For all the king’s horsemen could become whatever they felt.

When God created man. He made minds. Humans were the ones who kept them caged to bodies, but caged birds still sang pretty songs and bodies could withstand change.

So we changed and we sang. Some people were undeserving of song.

3
The mushrooms would devour us all.

Pain from self-hate rots your body.

Molds your mind.

Fungus covering your self-worth.

But you were stronger than they could ever know. For you survived in spite of their violence towards your ever pure soul.

When I started writing, I was in high school. Unsure of my own voice, who I was or who I wanted to become. All I knew was that I was a shy, emotional teenager who kept her distance from those around her. Then I grew up, grew into a person who kept her pop punk roots. Got several tattoos and found out what I wanted to write about. At least for now, as an adult with ADHD I am becoming more comfortable with the concept that I am not always going to know what I want. With that Kate Taylor Dickinson was born. Little by little she took on the complicated task of being my god complex, the little part of my ADHD that knew who she was at all times. The thing that wasn’t afraid of failure. Too self inflated to accept anything less than success. If I was honest this person always lived inside me, for the first time I was allowing her to come to the surface. The public face of me isn’t that far off from who I really am. In a lot of ways it’s as if I created her to block me from the things that I can’t comprehend, like non death loss and the unbelievable amount of pain that betrayal can bring. Hopefully through this book you find a safe place to deal with your own feelings of lost friends and half kept promises. I know that I did.

Tag: bird

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/24/24

Cat’s Tongue, House No. One Hundred And Ten

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 09/21/22