i wanna be isolde. but i think
i'll be a spinster. i hide behind blue
steel bastions -- spinning yarn from dissolving flax.
i play with cats who long to be kittens
splayed on spinet keys. i named them with
alphabetical euphemisms for lost lovers.
t is for my tristan.

nine bitter lonely lives. i've wasted three
while knitting needles clink time with vinyl-spinning
Wagner. i never sang my aria. we meow instead a
blue-note chorus. knit one purl two. we
worship yarn and nap. but i wanna be isolde.

my parapets and i know the wiles
of pining fond men and dull gnarled yarn.
so i claw rats myself -- plink my tunes
with furtive paws. but kings would call me
beautiful behind these cold cat eyes if
i were isolde. i'd flitter through noble
cathectic lovers. hey --
it's blue skies from here babe.

tristan rubs against my leg and purrs.
we share tender vittles on weekends.

(10/11/94) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------