By D.W. Polk
She squirms, arches belly up,
scratch me, love me, don’t forget me.
Eyes and eyelashes, wise and long,
this one year-old furry seer, knows
if you are kind. Sometimes I ignore her
paws clawing at the sky, asking important
questions. How can you focus on
anything more than me, than this
moment, do you see me, really see me?
Here I am, I love you. Where’d you go?
Did you forget?
You are me too.
“Writing found me on a Greyhound bus ride during college. The words just arrived and I began to listen. I write to better see the beauty that surrounds and lives with us in every single moment.” – the poet