Buttermilk and popcorn for breakfast
standing by a window she’s stood by
for over five years and watched trees
turn whether or not they had someone
to turn to, the stars there and a fading
moon and all the birds whose eyes shine
with the madness of lost homes sing
together. She’s listening. She’s always
listening for the gone to return, some
gift bearing friendliness, intrusion, surprise,
everything is always a surprise, the timeless
signifier of one good time after another,
of really nobody answers when she calls
into beautiful, empty rooms, although
at times she still calls, along with the birds
for sustenance and can you see her begin
to throw popcorn into her unplanned yard
faster than the birds can grab the popcorn
she throws as snow is thrown
and the schools close, the sound
of someone shoveling, cold come
to cuddle as a blanket, but stick around
and a few months later it is spring
again for her and she becomes
as cotton candy melting into the coffee
she drinks this morning.

Carol Ellis lives in Portland, Oregon. Her books include the full length Lost and Local (Pacific Coast Poetry Series, 2019), HELLO (Two Plum Press, 2018), and I Want A Job (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Her publications include Comstock Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Trampoline, ZYZZYVA, and The Cincinnati Review.