september's eve, a kitten appears
The wind did its best, all frightful waltzing
and merry gusto. Weather for shivering skin.
Wednesday
you were plucked from the belly of the night.
In my dreams it was black Rococo carriage and
deep stallion, anything to forge the mythos
of Salem. Instead
we found a cotton ball creature, shuddering
ectoplasm tears from eyeballs so eclipsed
with darkness. Bewitched.
Now my secret lies under the blanket, beneath
patchwork flowers and viridian pinstripes.
Warmly nestled, milk-filled belly.
Round and pink
demon bites.
I name you after two lovers. Because the moon
lets you live, I notice how stars hush. Cosmic whispers
at the presence of your broomstick tail. Ears
proudly shaped, a summer witch’s hat.
You are magic. You live.
Andrea Gerada is a writer from the Philippines. She enjoys reading about food, art, and nature.
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