Through the Window

The window in the parking lot pavement is drying around the oak leaves from last fall, the chain-link fence, the shed, and the golden cat on the ridgebeam
in the window in the parking lot.

No fiction is disposable-it’s a threat, it’s a lie,
the fear of a reality.
Now there are two of them, and on this side of the window,
the one has slunk off the tile and trespassed onto the mulch, and now it digs.
I lost my cat to a dog.
I lost my locket from my pocket.
I lost the end of the thread into the eye of the needle.
The cats mound like snails hauling their houses as they sit now on the picnic table beside the red and yellow bicycle. They are so fat.

Starlina Rose hails from New York. She loves writing and has received her associate's degree from Penn State. She intends to go back to school in the fall of 2015 and finish earning her BA in English. She finds the "imagist nature poet" medium most inspiring.

About Through the Window—I was sitting in the car, in the rain, in the Ingles parking lot, watching these wonderful, fat cats play near the edge.