Flipping between being and not being
a pot lid rattles with escaping steam.
Rainy day confinement sometimes clouds memory,
jumbles the metaphors of what is wanted.
Our cat’s yellow eyes glow from
my folded sweater. I scratch her chin,
appreciate her presence.
Greg Gregory is retired, but worked in educational media for over 30 years. His first love has always been language and the printed word. He has been published in the US, Canada, and England in publications including California Quarterly, Windsor Review, Poetry Nottingham, and The Aurorean.