In the bag, the claws
of the cat are growing,
and so is its hunger—
it remembers the rake of grass
on its belly when it crouches,
the thrill in letting the mouse
almost escape.
December 14, 2016 by Rosemerry
In the bag, the claws
of the cat are growing,
and so is its hunger—
it remembers the rake of grass
on its belly when it crouches,
the thrill in letting the mouse
almost escape.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged let the cat out of the bag, poem, poetry, secret | Leave a Comment
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