Marnie by Catherine Titus

Catherine Titus

The November full moon granted me a whirly, twirly,
clumsy shriek of a gift. Six pounds of fluffy, furry life
clutching to me, later to quadruple but still plummets
down on to me at the end of the day. I learned love
is being able to fall asleep with her on my chest;
slightly harder to take a full breath, only to make sure
she is unmoved. Life is a bowl of sugar crusted blueberry pie,
and some days I wonder if you remember your canine
birth mother and the way she abandoned you
in a shit-filled garage. Do you know that a different narrative
of abandonment led me to you? We forget together
in linoleum sheet naps, bathing in the sun speckled kitchen floor.

Catherine Titus / Poet / Caffeinated / Bad at Twitter

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