Mimsy Farquhar lives with her husband and contingent of 4 children, 3 dogs, 2 cats and is currently taking applications for the lone animal role once filled by a tree frog named Piggy. She tempers her love of hard science with poetry, trying to draw word pictures of things we can’t see.

This poem is not about you
By Mimsy Farquhar

This poem is about 
the man on the bus,
two seats to the left,
watching the old woman
lick her pencil before
filling in the crossword,
with sadness etched
in his face.

Or perhaps
the boy who
twenty-eight years ago
touched my knee
surreptitiously
under the cover
of a lab desk, filling me
with the aching
sweetness of young desire.

Sometimes,
I write for my cat,
of the moonlight
reflecting silver
on the snow,

or the bees
pollinating merrily,
exhibitionists with their flowers
but longing to make love
to their Queen.

But when I write
of the bitter wind
tearing at my clothes
while I walk the dogs
alone in the dark,
this is the same wind
that caresses your face,
and then, love,
I write of you.