I had a thought, after a poem written after
Catullus. After my cat named
Catullus. After I stole
all the thinking from ancient Rome.
I had a thought about how I lied about the name
of my cat. My cat’s name is Dickinson,
and many thoughts have I
stolen from her. She’s actually a deer
named Dickinson. I replaced her
with another deer fashioned after,
in the manner of, largely influenced by, working in
the Dickinsonian tradition of,
that original deer. After
Julie Andrews sang doe, a deer,
a female deer, I thought naming that deer after her
would be a good idea because
she brings us back to doe, ray, me,
a name I call myself. Me
thinking after the sun goes down a bit more brightly
the day after the winter solstice. After
my neighbor who survived cancer
told me about a neighbor just diagnosed with
cancer. You have to learn how to be
alive again. Even after
eating bad American Chinese food,
I tried to save my body with a fortune cookie:
you might not die a scary death. After
having a thought after myself,
after the end of my personality and person,
my sadness and hope. After
I made a decision—no more stealing
from the dead, not even
from the ancient Roman poet Catullus.
Because I decided to ignore that decision.
Because it was the morning after
my cat died, and I knew
I had never been original.
It was time for breakfast,
and I was ready to share my everything bagel
with everyone in the world.