Cairo
My oldest friend loves my mother and me.
She tells me so over the phone, decades after
the long cord I pulled taut in my childhood kitchen,
my mother in the room with me. Back then
we spoke in code, the boys we liked turned cities
we hoped to visit—Will I ever get to Cairo?
Rome feels impossible. My friend suggests therapy,
asks if I’ve set boundaries. I love my friend—
she’s not making me angry, only tired. She knew
one version of my mother. For half our lives,
she has lived in another city. Believe me, she says,
I know how your mother can be. Believe me, I say.
So Much Beauty, So Much Light
Framed in the back porch window, bare winter branches
trying to catch the setting sun. Like rain through my fingers
when I was a girl. A poet once suggested keeping track,
one beautiful thing a day, actively searching. At the time
that seemed like a lot to ask of the world. But today—
I’ve just woken from a lovely nap, a dog still curled
at my feet. Earlier my husband and I ushered all three dogs
into the wetlands near our house. Halfway through the walk,
our oldest dog started dancing. No other word for it.
Cold air slipped beneath him, carried him up and around.
Whirling and barking, he got the other two all worked up.
My husband and I couldn’t stop laughing. It was a moment
I recognized while inside it. I didn’t have to wait years
to look back and know. And now I turn my attention back
to the window painting, still hanging on, not yet cloaked.
And now the dog beside me has started to softly snore.
Melissa Fite Johnson is the author of three poetry collections, most recently Midlife Abecedarian (Riot in Your Throat, 2024). Her poems have appeared in Ploughshares, Pleiades, HAD, Whale Road Review, SWWIM, and elsewhere. Melissa, a high school English teacher, is a poetry editor for The Weight, a journal for high school students, and Porcupine Lit, a journal by and for teachers. She and her husband live with their dogs in Lawrence, KS, where she co-hosts the Volta reading series at the Replay Lounge.