Lament of a Cat Before Breakfast

Woe to Mother!

Mother has made a wretch of me!

I feel the thousand daggers of hunger pierce my tender, tufted flesh. And it is Mother who drives them so!

Jail to Mother!

St. Miette I beseech thee! Deliver me from this loathsome existence to a promised land. For Mother has denied me!

Hark! Mother awakens!

She arises like first dawn over distant horizons!

Lo! Mother provides! Her benevolent love knows no bounds!

Eleanor Forestell (she/her)

The Mud

The last I saw the light of day, My eyes were struck with fear–The sky above, a brilliant hue Of fiery, orange smears.

I thought myself a man of steel, A bearer of the flag: The flame inside my heart was truth–My name reduced to tags.

And now, the world before my eyes, A grey and empty tomb–“Hello?” a voice calls out to me, But I do not respond.

The man without a face, just eyes; He calls himself the mud–

The roots of trees we walk upon: The veins that pump his blood.

“I want to leave.” I tell the mud, But he stares at the ground. He shakes his head and sheds a tear, But doesn’t make a sound.

The room still cavernous and dark, I wept. And gave up hope–Placed upon my shoulder I feel A cool and earthy paw.

By now the worms have set up shop, tunneling through our skin. The grubs and critters crawl about; A new life born within

In darkness I can feel his warmth, My livelihood now gone–We share our arms and legs and mind And things to which we’re drawn.

The truths that I once held, defunct, My name but rusted crud–It doesn’t have much use to me; I call myself the mud.

Sit With Me

Developing Scoliosis

Fifty-five people in this classroom

But somehow my name out of your mouth

Feels so imminent.

Chin touches chest.

If I can just get low enough

I’ll squirm into the crevice between desk and time.

If my spine will just form a perfect convex

You’ll feel enough pity to spare me

From the icy stares of classmates

From the burn of a constricting throat.

As I yearn for space from you

My vertebrae gain distance from themselves. My face forms a parallel

With the panicked rushed black ink scrawl.

Now in addition to my grade, I fear

Developing scoliosis.