He prowls around the condo floor
with the calculated steps of a surveyor,
measuring this, examining that,
spilling the dregs of my tea, yawning.
He clatters out of the messy kitchen,
his mischief administered,
his ill-begotten turkey treat claimed,
and revels in a little rebellion
then purloins the least proximal part
of my blanket, resents the existence
of feet, basks in the full length of himself,
mitten-paws reaching for the image of innocence,
claws bared, refuting. He wonders
if I love him. I wouldn’t put it
quite like that. But if he turns down
this forehead kiss, I’ll die.
Julian Kanagy
Julian Kanagy is a Chicago-based poet and editor. His poetry samples a Midwestern upbringing peppered with loss and abandonment, thrives both in the confines of formal structure and the simplicity of its absence, and expands into an ongoing search for the beauty in everyday life when it seems to be hiding. He started Heirlock Magazine to amplify underrepresented voices and The Wild Umbrella to celebrate writing for writing's sake; both as an editor and in his own work, Julian follows the advice of a mentor: “find the poems that nobody else could have written.”
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