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.


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.