there’s a patch of sunlight, just there, I’d like to lie in it.
i’ll tuck my head under my paws, and plainly ignore you,
just as long as you feed me later, and promise to
scratch that spot, along my spine,
the one that makes everything alright.
I’m a ghost in my being, sliding from one spot
to the next, and I’m pretty sure you don’t understand
shake your head when I say no, again,
and turn around in place
and put my nose in the air
and walk right by you.
It’s that time of the day, the sun has set,
i’ve ignored you all day, though I think you might
have wanted to play. I was busy with the difficulty
of needing space, and warmth, and light right then.
but now, I’ve decided, is a time for you and me
wouldn’t you say?
I like just that much attention, no more.
to know that you’re there, just when I need it.
but mostly I’d like for you to sit in that chair,
i’ll lie over here, in my favorite patch of sun,
and you’ll be my favorite person.
taking care to keep ||
what light there was ||
clearly || in the || open door ||
of || a moment ||
he || sending a fountain of sparks up ||
voices outside the door ||
carrying a lamp ||
sit quietly ||
movements || stiff and slow ||
settled in her accustomed place ||
took the stopper out ||
into the fire ||
through the door ||
Sarah Rose Goldfinch is a sophomore at Boston University, studying Special Education with hopes of someday being a special education teacher. This is her first publication, though both her father and his father have published poems and translations, and she grew up around their work.