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A helping hand
Gina
Laptop on my knees, I sit, red-socked feet against the heater, slurping
from a mug with no handle, held between the palms of both hands. In
an impossibly blue sky, the sun sits low, slanting light through slit
blinds across the wall, striping the apples in the bowl.
reading --
in the absence of birds
windchimes
The cat pokes his head around the door, sniffs the air, then melts
through the gap of shadow door space. Padding across the floorboards,
he is momentarily diverted by a scent only he can discern. Satisfied,
he licks his right paw, wipes his face and walks under my chair. . . .
I am distracted, lying on a blanket in a poppy field a world away, your
face smiling at me, blocking out the sun. . . . The cat moves to my
right, strains his neck to see past my knee, a tail twitch, and he
jumps, sees the computer, does a hesitant, mid-air, half-turn flip,
missing the mark.
Grappling air on the way down, a gloved paw slaps my laptop.
Surpising us both
"Mozilla Help" pops up.
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Gina is Hungarian, born in South Africa and has lived in Australia 30 years.
The last 10 years she has been working as an artist and living in Tasmania,
the island state of Australia. She keeps busy with her garden, a few fish,
a cat and most recently, poetry.
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