INCONGRUOUS

My mother keeps falling down; I can’t find my littlest flashlight.

The gray cat is suddenly dead; I have poison parsnip burns.

My mother doesn’t always know where she is; the moon in its first quarter is tangled in the oak.

We’re a month from the Equinox and the low battery light on my mouse blinks red.

My mother doesn’t want to see the doctor. When I was making supper, I burned the rice.

Weeds have spread through the garden bed; do I still believe in god?

My mother didn’t recognize me this morning; I took another photo of the setting sun.

Mice are picking at the ripening tomatoes and Jupiter burns through the sky before dawn.