Cat in the Rain

sometimes,

I am a cat in the rain

huddled under a

cardboard box

wanting only to be

picked up

dried off

claimed

but sometimes

I’m that American girl

who thinks if only I had that

little cat under the table

I could suffer the rest of this

If I can’t have long hair or any fun, I can have a cat

sometimes I’m that orange tabby

poor slob without a name

thrown out of a cab

in the rain

to hide in an alley

until Holly is sobbing

searching in boxes

and sometimes I’m that girl in the cab

who can’t bare the idea of being

fenced in

but can’t live

all alone anymore

so she runs into the

alley

looking for Cat

If I ever find a real place that feels like Tiffany’s,

I’ll buy some furniture and give the cat a name

And I know I play it off like I can be this

chic girl

who doesn’t need

but I need

I sit in the clean well-lighted place

the place I go

to escape all the chaos

scribbling in my notebook

alone

yearning for

something more

He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean-well lighted café was a very different thing.

always

I am that cat,

that American girl,

that lost little Holly

In the rain

waiting to be claimed

 

 

 

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