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