They call accusingly, the same blackbirds,
titmice, flickers, chickadees,
that two days ago called bonanza, free lunch.
They remind me I forgot
to fill the tree feeder with its nine foot-rests
and a see-thru cylinder.
No, I am not making this up, any more
than in folding laundry
each shirt contains a body you care for,
folding their arms,
smoothing their wrinkles, totally beholden.
And Frances forever
inside the panties, and loose again in silk shirts.
Memories carry obligations
the blissful havocs. They bring back voices
and the heartbeats needed, and hunger of the times.