cats in the street

my sister, who
lives florida,
the one i get along
with, called me
the other day
from the golf course,
i could imagine
her lean, tanned
arms and legs, dressed
in white.
she was peeling
a banana, waiting
her turn to tee
off, she wanted to
know how things
were back here, up
north where the winds
were blowing,
and the snow
was falling,
where cats
were dying in
the street, frozen.
she wasn't rubbing
it in, i was glad
for her, glad
for her new marriage,
her volunteer work,
her ability to change
directions in her
life and find a warm
place to rest
her weary bones.
okay, she said,
like that, i
gotta go,
and i could hear
her grabbing
her driver from
her bag before
sending a ball
flying through
the blue sky.