I have LOVED every STRAY puppy, kitten that has crossed my path. My heart has broken with every dead bird, desiccated earthworm, even the skunk by the side of the road. But while my heart is not too PICKY, I have found fish more strange- from GUPPY to grouper, they fail to move me, despite their sometime beauty and grace. Is it the cold-blooded thing? Or perhaps the strange mouth gape or off-putting scales? The heart has its own reasons, even in matters such as these.

Georg’ann

Holding the wet clay in my hands,
beginning to shape it with eyes closed
squeezing, stroking toward memory
here, alone in my office,
I can almost GRASP it
the early childhood draw to mud, muck, GOOPY slime, and finger paint.
Sensory play that makes a mess,
leaves it traces everywhere.
Even the mouth craves to be filled with some sort of ooey, mushy goodness
Mashed potatoes, cream of wheat, bubble tea, banana, a frozen gas station GULPY.
Continuing the exploration
I am awash with glee.
A sweet little GUPPY swimming in my own pool,
flashing colors catch the light
movement silent, no splashing.
Clay infused water drips without sound
on my pants, shoes, the floor.
No adult chagrin accompanies their fall

Heather