Cat in a Cube

Everything I send here is some version of an SFD (sh*tty first draft.) I love the idea of sharing and demystifying the process of making a poem, even the clunky bits. This one is even firstier and draftier than usual, as I am composing it here in Substack (instead of in my journal.) I’d love to hear about your creative process too.

When asked to define the limits of desire

or reveal the central chambers of a long-blocked heart,

I think of a cat in a cube.

It fills the space quite well —

so well you may want to call it geometrical —

yet at the first hint of a break in the cube,

the cat pours out

(liquid-solid creature that it is)

moves for a time in cubist fashion,

contained to a space of imaginary angles.

With time, and enough air,

it stretches to its full cat length,

licks a paw for luck,

and leaps into the formless openness.