She has kept,
she says, her fourteen
cats in a closet
because they might
scare me away.

I hear them purr
and scratch the wood
as I light a cigarette
and watch her
inhale my smoke.

She offers me some
orange juice in a goblet
stained with lipstick
and sits on a cushion
beside my feet.

"If you asked me now,
I'd take off your shoes
and kiss your toes,"
she whispers, leaning
her cheek on my knee.

Then she laughs,
and shouts, "Hey,
come on down
little sister, your
little boy is here!"