There were cats in the windows, I suppose,
of the nicer houses, the brick ones, in Boston
and other Eastern cities. In South Carolina
it would be deep spring, time the tall oaks
unfurl their tiny flags to the sun. The roads,
muddy with rain, sucked carriage wheels
down into the earth. A fine time to start
a war. Even then, if you and a cat gazed
at each other, a slow blink on your part
showed your trust, that you loved it.
I can imagine the bodies underneath the corsets,
small, but can’t imagine wearing the gowns.
Isn’t that how it always is – a fine time
to row out in a boat, with summer ahead,
water shining so hard it hurts the eyes.
~  ~  ~

Kelly Morse is the author of the poetry chapbook Heavy Light (Two of Cups Press, 2016); her creative work appears in Gulf Coast, Mid-American Review, The Cincinnati Review, The Journal, Linebreak, and elsewhere. Kelly holds an MFA from Boston University, is a Robert Pinsky Global Fellow, and has been awarded residencies at the Vermont Studio Center, PLAYA, and the Kimmel Harding Nelson Center for the Arts.