To talk is to exist

so she does

it didn’t matter

who listened

who didn’t

sometimes the cat sat by

more out of boredom than interest

as she belted out her tunes

old tunes of old times

some sparkling new

smelling more of fantasy than reality

the other day I saw her talking to the sky

I didn’t interrupt her reverie

her holy communion

a few earth worms in hiding

came to the fore

volunteering to keep her company

a centipede or two joined

a crow cawed her approval

she spoke unabashed, uninhibited

of thin walls pressing on to her

of spaces cramped

of eavesdroppers

of rude turn-aways

of forbidden pleasures

of craving for what is not

of efforts to evolve

of struggles within without

a tear was shed from above

manna for her soul

a deluge for the earthworm and the centipede

each to his own…