Long Winter Grass

The academy of long winter grass, an education in the backyard. I always thought I was better than the sparrows, thought nothing of that black cat looking for his lucky break on our porch, the neighbors’ bastard dog at the fence playing puppy. One day our cousins visited us, all dressed up in percale linen and sailor suits, little wealthy angels gleaming in the sun. “ Careful for the grass. It is wet,” I said to them. My uncle ordered fish and chips. The cousins fed the old changer cat some of their fish, the dog got some chips and the sparrows the last crumbs of Portuguese buns. How long I lived on liverwurst and happy bread, how these stray animals shared in a take away luxury. I was no different from them. I have been instructed on poverty.