Meanwhile

With a nod to cherished poetfriend Julia Fehrenbacher, who has a poem of the same title.

Forsythia plots
its yellow revolution
in sundry cells and cellars.

A ladybug
dawdles on the windowsill,
careless, clueless as a human.

Water chilled in the fridge
fills my tall white mug
from Charlotte in Alabama.

The analog clock
on the wall of my kitchen
grinds my foredawn coffee.

Qualmish
about my mom's questions,
I wear the badge
of bisexual vis…