Photography, literature, pop culture and creature comforts
Poems by Grace Cavalieri

Returning to Michigan

Flat and cold. The place you didn’t
want to go. A covenant comes alive, leads you here:
a person,  moment,  event,  you’d
rather go past the door than see.
All stories have to be made to fit their
own time.
The loon doesn’t know anger and shame
yet the detail of her place makes you
sad. The hungry dove remains silent.
It remains still. It surely must yearn,
yet nothing burns in its chest.
How it longs to make the sound
of the loon in the lake,
a single peal lifting the frozen
air of what cannot be said.



The cat likes to lick
a piece of butter
at the end of a knife
propped up by the window
so he can watch the birds
today I forgot the butter and the knife
he didn’t care
he knows
some days
there are no birds.

Awards Day

She always wanted to make love to a clock so she’d know when to stop.
She always wanted to be standing in the limelight in a white satin dress,
no, make that a strapless dress. Now she was older and, no, make that
one with sleeves. She wanted to be a cat hiding in a tree to catch a bird.

(acknowledgment: Poets&Artists, 2012)

A Matter Of Record

I have never seen anyone die.
I have never seen the spirit leave the burnt body.
I do not know what sound is caught
from the throat, and I’m sure it’s not
one I would  want
to hear twice—
then the  stony heart,
a lack of beauty that comes to stay,
unattractive expedients,
vast disappointments.
More sadness fills the room-
enough to die of right there -
unless you believe that  
after Sundown, comes Sunrise.
After the Sunset,
as a matter of record, I am told,
it comes up gold.
Acknowledgement: Casa Menendez,
Sounds Like Something I Would Say