Hunting Cat by Robert Gregory
Blacker than the last
true black of night
before the sun begins to thin it
silent as she moves
feral yes but sleek,
not skinny, not hurting:
the hunting cat
excited by the chit, chit
of the cardinal warning his mate
Unabashed, professional,
making her routine
accommodation to a
passing irrelevant human
who would soon be gone
and then the real business
we are always interrupting
will continue
Robert Gregory has published four full length collections of poems, most recently The Beautiful City of Weeds (Hanging Loose), and three chapbooks, most recently You Won’t Need That (Willow Springs/Acme Poem Company).
spider up her thigh in the dimly lit room
held down, stared down
embers of the abyss snap around her
My father sexually abused me.
When I got married,
I hyphenated my name.
No one questioned it at the time.
But in the middle of my parents’ late divorce,
everyone wants to know about names.
i was depressed,
and i wanted
to take a
walk;
you said you'd join me—
didn't mean i wanted
netflix and chill,
it happened before words came
to tell me how to feel about it
newly connected neurons torn apart
or perverted—
forever firing blanks into the microbiological air
As a child
The lessons taught
Can bring a pain never thought.
The lessons on trust
And heartache
Sear the soul.
