It suits me fine
waking sometimes in the night I felt
some fur beneath my toes
and considered: kitten 1 or kitten 2
to the right
of my right foot, I thought, a kitten. so
I pushed my big toe, my calf closer andin a notebook I kept score,
some track of emotions, rankings
of delight or astonishment, numbers
to remind myself not to contort
my face and ask instead, what
is the wonder of others? sometimes
I can be quite ungenerousI thought about falling asleep
again. the sheets would take me
and release, I would be alive
with consciousness and departed
from it. to the right of my foot,
I thought
Genevieve Kaplan is the author of (aviary) (Veliz Books, 2020); In the ice house (Red Hen Press, 2011); and four chapbooks, most recently I exit the hallway and turn right from above/ground press. Her poems can be found in Posit, Third Coast, Spillway, Denver Quarterly, and other journals. A poet, scholar, and book-maker, Genevieve lives in southern California. She edits the Toad Press International chapbook series, publishing contemporary translations of poetry and prose. Visit her at genevievekaplan.com.
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