Morning at Ernie’s

Pink paints the tips of treetops, a promise of rain later

but for now it is morning and clear and eleven cats

hunkered on the porch

feel his step shake the cabin floor,

hear the creak of the door,

watch as their breakfast rattles

into the tin pie pans he uses to feed them.

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in NaPoWriMo, short poems and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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