Posted in Life, Poetry

Get a Cat (or Don’t)

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Cats are such a joy.

Usually.

On one hand, they’re adorable.

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* Love *

And they provide hours of entertainment both in the form of comedy…

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“Mama, I ate ALL the catnip!”

…and drama.

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The Six Stages of a Relationship

But they can also be needy…

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“Could you bring me a beer?”

…and creepy…

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She seems to be waiting for something to come out from under the couch. (!!!)

…and owning a cat often means waking up to this:

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“Good morning. I’ve been grooming your hair while you sleep.”

It’s a tough choice.

Maybe this poem, first published by the Poetry Society of Texas in A Book of the Year 2016, will help you decide if you need a cat. (Or not.)

Get a Cat (or Don’t)
* a series of haiku *

Why you should get a
cat: Explanation for all
those mid-night noises.

Why you shouldn’t get
a cat: The increased number
of mid-night noises.

When the cat doesn’t
help: You hear a noise… the cat’s
sleeping beside you.

When the cat makes it
worse: You hear nothing… the cat
hisses anyway.

Worst possible case:
There is a ghost… the cat likes
it better than you.

What should you do? Get
rid of the cat—problem solved.
Wait… what was that noise?

© Carie Juettner
First place in the Poetry Society of Texas Fill in the Blanks Award, 2015

*

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Visit my Etsy Shop and click on Toby Gear.

Posted in Poetry

That Summer

This poem was published in A Book of the Year 2017, the anthology of first place poems from the Poetry Society of Texas annual contests. Now that it’s July, when we’re steeped in Texas summer, it seems like a good time to share it with you. Plus, I just got home from spending a few days with my wonderful family, so I’m feeling a bit nostalgic. I hope “That Summer” takes you back to some of your favorite summer memories.

*

That Summer

I sat on a threadbare pink towel
on top of the ice cream maker
my dad and grandfather
taking turns at the crank
my grandmother
slicing homegrown peaches

my fingers stained
from hammering black walnuts
on the anvil in the backyard
the skin of my palms raw
from gripping the rope swing
in the hackberry tree

my mom in shorts and sandals
a glass of iced tea
sweating in her hand
my brother eating
a smile of watermelon
juice dripping down his chin

lightning bugs blinking
a slow Morse code
hummingbirds in the trumpet vine
bare feet and dirty knees
and the voices of my family
hovering in a comforting cloud

I’d like to reach back
and catch that summer
in an empty pickle jar
poke holes in the lid
and keep it for a while
warm and safe in my hands

*

© Carie Juettner
First Place in the Poetry Society of Texas Campbell Prize, 2016
First Published in A Book of the Year 2017

Posted in Poetry

I had plans.

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I had plans.

BIG plans.

I was going to conquer the world
and the laundry.

I was going to write the great American novel
and bake the great American pie.

I was going to rid my home of every piece of clutter,
every unnecessary item of clothing,
every duplicate ladle (because really,
how many ladles does a person need?).

I was going to learn to sew
and learn to sing
and learn twenty new ways to cure the hiccups.

I was going to wash the windows and the dog
and find out, once and for all, what that one weird
vacuum attachment is really for
(because I’ve only ever used it to reach
behind the fridge for the magnet that fell off).

I was going to clean behind the fridge.

I was going to clean under the fridge.

I was going to buy a new fridge
and new fridge magnets
and rearrange them daily
to see if my husband noticed.

I was finally going to exercise.

And organize my computer files.

And mop.

But instead,
I sit here
with my eyes
closed
and my face
tilted
toward the sun
breathing
and wonder
when
the last time
was
that I
did nothing
but this.

 

© Carie Juettner 2017

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