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November 1, 2014

They don’t tell you how hard it will be
to leave your cats

I call the other home when I’m here
my stuff – my room
split between two locations
books at least I brought with me – two bookshelves
of books to make myself a home

the internet is the constant thing
my laptop is the familiar hearthstone

I use a friend’s toaster that has trundled from
L.A. to Chicago in the backseat of my sister’s car,
and it burns and it half-heartedly toasts,

Things that make me feel civilized:
toast.

Chicago – with your one way streets, shitty traffic,
bright alleys and people walking dogs
My cats though-
I miss their side-eyed looks when they catch
me watching them through the kitchen window
their fur brushing against me as they weave
around my legs
their paws kneading into my lap

I smile at dogs in the street  –
not at you human, just your dog,
can I be its friend, please?

I call after cats crossing the lot,
familiar, hopefully, tentatively friendly
they are briefly curious, but not interested

things I like:
buildings – stately – towering
broad avenues of green, laced in fall,
brick and slanted roofs,
and the lights along the back alley

All of these are good

But they don’t tell you how hard it will be
to leave your cats

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