Poem 427

There’s an obvious inference of sex here (and a relationship that’s become sexually moribund) … but the cat could also be fear – undifferentiated and nameless or specifically a suffocating sense of mortality …

What Men Do

I have been visited by this cat every night
since I was thirteen
made of nails soft on my chest
its eyes other countries
in the dark
                      it smells of earth
                      of sweat
                      of damp presents

I'm not a good sleeper
this thing babies have
night terrors
                         never fell away
I still wrestle the air
sprain fingers in the sheets
dig down splitting nails
between mattress and wall

the cat is here
staring
               throbbing
the deep veins of his throat

        once we fed him together
now I put down milk for him
alone