That cowgirl was out in the field,
Walking Pillow is on the couch.
I looked down at my darling little girl one day,
There was a fish, his name was Sam. His family came from the Hoover Dam. Once he was a little bitty guppy, just like a dog starts out as a puppy. When Sammy swims, Sammy sways with a swish. Cuz that's how you swim when you're a fish.
There once was a lion named Andy-Dandy
Fanguin. A strange word for some.
My mother and I were in the formal living of our house at the time. A house I don't even remember now. All the walls were painted white, but looked gray because the blinds were shut, the room was shadowed, and the lights were out. Dusty streams of light came streaming through white slits in the window. I was standing in front of a play kitchen. My mom was sitting on the couch in front of me. Her hair was longer, about shoulder length, and yellow. I was eating blueberry muffins. Or rather, I was chewing them up. Taking soggy handfuls of purpley-blue mush out of my mouth and cramming them into the fake plastic sink. I'm not sure why my mother didn't stop me, but she didn't. I think she was distracted. Perhaps on the phone. I don't remember thinking of much. I mostly remember the way it looked. And the way those soggy muffins felt between my tiny fingers.
The first time I saw you, my world stopped. I'm not kidding; all the gravity that surrounded me disappeared and I turned into a balloon that stayed tied to the depths of your eyes.
The calico cat from across the street