Poetry at Bedtime

A hundred and one things
compile today;
my back yields to the weight
of all of them.

Yet, my cat must be hugged.

My fingers deep,
press her close
till my breath slows
to her softening purrs.

Yet, my poem must be written
before I sleep.

Digging deep
I try to leave my mark
as blood is seeping
from her scratch on my thigh.