When she feels unnecessary,
no reason for the oatmeal
steaming in her bowl at breakfast,
each plump blueberry, reclining
in the gore of its own purple juices
reminding her of the uselessness
she senses under the thick cover
of her life, the way her cat senses
her feet beneath the quilts when
she climbs into bed, pouncing
exactly where her unmoving toes
are hidden, his sharp claws
drawing tiny specks of blood that
dry and darken on her pale skin.
She knows it’s silly, allowing the cat
to continue his nightly, slightly
sadistic ritual, but when bedtime
arrives, she does not chide him,
because the game brings him joy,
and this she feels, without actually
thinking the words, makes her
necessary, gives her reason enough
to set her alarm for the next morning.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: Pixabay
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