Our Lady of the Midnight Kitchen

Beans float like baby Jesuses in the soup.
I get a call from a lost one-eyed cousin:
he says the world is big enough in one place.

I was sleeping in a cold room when the sun came up.
My eyes were open, my mouth bloody, full of cat-claws
and nettles. Always my life unravels like the hem

of your old robe. We go home the long way—the wind,
sharpness of new rain, street sinking into my shoes.
Sky the gorgeous maroon I so love. At night

I gather all my missing pieces, wait for dawn.
The cat hauls his fat body up
to lie like a sack of diamonds at our feet.