are you destined for greatness (in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day)

feel that burn
that fuels insomnia till
late into the morning of a new day
you write
“it’s just this never-ending feeling
that i was put here to do more
than this, more than the desk and the
swivel chair, more than this”
feel those letters and smear ink
into your fingertips
and tomorrow, when you see it
stand up.

all us Golightly’s

all us Golightly’s
with our nameless slobs of cats
we flit from this
party to the next

i see how the makeup
sinks lovingly now into the laugh lines
around my blue eyes
witnessing the apartment
filling with guests
masks and all
in the space behind the mirror

one arm sits
linked with the man of accent and money
watching close by
an unknown writer

when he leaves –
don’t abandon me when i begin to push you away
help me find
a name for the
cat.

domestic scene (she was almost a writer)

the scene:
quiet house, laundry spinning
husband out, children sleeping,

up typing in a tingling
of curious fingers seeking–
dreams i could be this i could be that

kerchang  — kerchunk.

he has left change in his pockets.
they herald my attention
rise my legs to the chore
and the burning heat on the dime
doesn’t register on these
oven-calloused hands.