by Amy Southard

White cat looking toward the camera.

I walked into the room,

The hardwood floors creaking

Beneath my feet.

I thought I was alone again,

As I gracefully stepped over

My fluffy white feline friend.

The air felt a little chilled

And there was a draft

Blowing the sheer turquoise curtains

Into a beautiful tango.

I turned to sit at the solid oak desk

The one I built with my bare hands.

But you were already there

And you were sobbing.

At first, I was afraid,

As I saw the black streaks

Tracing down the curves of your cheeks.

Every time I see you,

I am startled by your presence.

One moment I am alone,

Then suddenly you appear.

I get braver every time,

Inching closer to you,

I want to ask why the tears fall so often.

I want to know who you are.

Why are you in my house?

The house I built

With my bare hands, in 1922.

I was here first,

But I suppose I could use some company.

After all these years,

The cat isn’t much of a talker anyway.

Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing, SNHU Student