Cat Food

On the plane
I wrote a poem titled
The Generosity of Flesh.
It had a line about my armpit
the memory of our cat
sleeping
nose to flesh
my vulva was a heart
folded away
beating.
 
I used the word generous four times
likened my fat to an airbag
keeping me safe from eye-darts
and tongue-arrows.
 
I wrote it in the ap on my phone
called reminders
because I’m too fat to bend
to where my notebook was kicked
under my seat.
Not without unclipping
the belt-extender.
 
I open the ap to change a word
but it’s all gone
and I hear your voice
telling me to use notes instead
of scribbling thoughts
in the shopping list
which we share.
 
“They didn’t have any Raymond Carver at the fruit shop
but they had extra Maggie Nelson”
and my voice saying
“I’m so bad at this
I don’t know which ap to use
half the time”.
 
So I write this threadbare ghost poem
in notes
maybe it won’t be there when we land.
 
I wonder if you saw
cat food
on the shopping list
when you were driving home
from the airport.