sunlight sneaks in,
gold and slow,
like it’s afraid of disturbing my afternoon nap
the air is still warm—
that soft, sticky kind of warm
that makes you feel
like the world is breathing
right on your neck.
the cat’s on her back,
legs in the air,
drunk on sunlight
and something better than joy.
I drink from last night’s glass of water,
thinking how strange it is
to be alive
and not quite sure
what to do with it.
somewhere down the street
a man is cursing
at a car that won’t start.
somewhere else,
a woman is deciding
whether or not to leave.
here,
it’s just me,
the cat,
and the way the blinds
make stripes across the floor
like prison bars
for the light.
I scratch her belly—
she bites my hand,
gentle,
like she knows
it’s all a joke anyway.
does the day still wait outside?
well I don’t.
The Shameless poems 2023-2025