Friday, January 1, 2021

Jack & Lucy by Lauren Scharhag

I keep feeling soft thumps 

on the edge of the bed at night.

Startled from sleep, 

I raise my head and look,

but you are not there.


I am still picking your fur

from the fibers of my clothes.

The towels in the laundry basket 

retain the indent of your form.

Some of my books were mauled by you

in kittenhood, covers still dotted

with little tooth and claw marks,

a sort of feline Braille.


I touch them and recall

you pushing your head

into my palm. 


Our time has made me--


I am loveless and adored.

I am empty and full.

I am lonely and never lonely.

I am joyless and overjoyed.






Lauren Scharhag is the author of fourteen books, including Requiem for a Robot Dog (Cajun Mutt Press) and Languages, First and Last (Cyberwit Press). Her work has appeared in over 150 literary venues around the world. Recent honors include the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize, three Best of the Net nominations, and acceptance into the 2021 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition. She lives in Kansas City, MO. To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com




No comments:

Post a Comment

Measure By Bruce Morton

We measure light, Not darkness, which is The absence of light. We measure heat, Not cold, which is The absence of heat. We measure sound, No...