To Jeanie

Another 3 AM call
All I hear is your breathing

I breathe back,
playing chicken, back and forth,
up and down, hoping
you'll hang up first

Those wordless calls
unanswered and mute, lungs working
hearts beating
through our one open bloodline

I breathe, recalling a time
when I was seven, you were twelve,
We invaded a bakery, ordering donuts
in character, my Tweety to your
Sylvester:

"Cweem-filled gwazed,
pweety pweeze"

"Stop dat, mean ole puddy tat!"

Laughing too hard to pull off the purchase,
nearly peeing our pants, we ran, ran and ran
down the hot, crowded streets,
stopping just out of range, leaning on
each other breathlessly
sweet silly solidarity

I'd never had so much fun
So, next time you appeared
at the door to my cage, inviting me out
I let down my guard, flying happily
to you, only to once again feel
those familiar claws digging into my wings,
and your sharp jealous teeth
clamping on my tail feathers

Did you call tonight wondering
which sister would answer? Dumb gullible Tweety,
or that pissed-off storekeeper, warning you
to take your business elsewhere?

But it is 3 AM
I'm too tired to help you
My cage door's locked tight. Sure, I feel
I feel you out there, breathing
and waiting, it's my choice to cower
in the farthest dark corner, vowing not
to give in to our god damned
depwession

--Barbara Saxton