Forgotten Eve

Hear this modern Eve,

where the apple slices sharp

the wax drowns new wicks

swallowing the knife of words

watch a candle cut to flame,

choaked, a blessing came

with an absence of honey;

uttered without tune

where weary throats broke quavers

on past moons, hope a sliver.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

Cat Lore

serenely she sits

on my favourite plant pot

and relieves herself.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch