Surely my fault—the food
I leave out for our cat
overnight. In bed,
my husband and I
bicker. Then he feigns
sleep while I sigh
loudly, turn my back
to him, curse
the too-bright moon,
January’s never-ending
chill. This morning,
hoarfrost bites
the ground, hard
and full of burrows
mice dug all fall.
I gauge one hole’s depth.
Shallow. The dirt
unyielding, like us.
The grass is mostly brown
and dormant,
but despite the freeze,
a few tufts
refuse to let go
of their green.
–
Robin Rosen Chang is the author of the full-length collection The Curator’s Notes (Terrapin Books, 2021). Her poems appear in Michigan Quarterly Review, The Journal, Paterson Literary Review, North American Review, Diode, Yemassee, and elsewhere. She has an M.F.A. from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College and teaches college English and ESL in NJ.