Francesca Chabrier

Cheek Against Soft Pumpkin Fur

I am me, but I am a cow.

You are a river.

You think I am cute.

You call me kitten-cow.

You are a river, but your water

looks like a hologram,

and when I look at you,

I see a fake reflection.

You tell me I am wearing

five scarves even though

I have mittens on.

I throw a coin at you,

but you are not a fountain.

You ask me to meow

for you, but I won’t.

I feed you chocolate, and we play that game

where I write on your leg with my finger.

You brush my hair for 2 hours

while I spell things like:

cheek against soft pumpkin fur, and

I would come to you on a rubber gull.

The eyes and the faces become less easy

to make out in the night,

but we go on and on.

Wax ponyfish.  Japanese fog.

I am stupid at stopping.

Lay Fallen

French men surrounded by French snow.

Drifts and wind, or vice versa.

The cold all over, even through the sides of things.

Frozen horses in standard formation.

Me shoveling in nothing but a towel. 

You pushing plows out of heaven.