I ignore you because I am eating breakfast.
You are sleeping in my house. I do not see
your perfect tail, your round body or my cat

who sits nonchalant in front of your royal
stillness. If daylight instead of darkness seeped
through the curtains. If I had a child upstairs

to protect from the disease of the red
marigolds blooming from your neck,
I’d intrude on your mantle dreams

with a broom. Holding my breath
inside my mouth so as not to wake you—
so as not to wake myself. I had hoped to never

live in a place like this—where the unused
stones of the fireplace knit into a cold bed,
where I wished for someone stronger, with boots,

to carry you away, you who in your refusal
to leave, force me from my kitchen table,
—where proper death does wait.

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Photo by W.A. Djatmiko (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.