I am of the 2%
We do not speak casually to our pets
Mine endure my silence
They warble all day for food even though I feed them
just fine—clearly they are looking
for something else
from me—humans call it love
Psychologists call it attachment
Relational psychologists call it relation.
Today— . . . I am so sick of the structure given to me for telling
my stories. It goes: I am here,
sitting in a chair on a special day. It is finally getting cold out,
winter 2017, when will people stop
telling me it’s a beautiful day, it’s not beautiful if it’s poisoned.
71 degrees in November. One black cat
settles in my lap—this is not unusual, not
a story worth the centering of my self. She
is the little sister lap cat. Do you
post pictures of your cats
or dogs all day every day? Well
then I un-follow you. Today
I am sitting in a chair, having forced myself
to stay here long enough for these creatures
I live with
to find me trust me experience time passing and me staying still. They
only see me standing still when I am standing
glued to my phone
scrolling in a state
of doped paralysis, you heard me,
there’s nothing good going on there
you are being drugged, roped
and branded this is no joke. I am
here in my chair to tell you.
Political Animals
Rebecca Wolff
Rebecca Wolff is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently One Morning[Symbol] (Wave Books, 2015), and a novel, The Beginners (Riverhead Books, 2011). She is the editor of Fence, and lives in the Hudson Valley, where she is a fellow at the New York State Writers Institute at the University at Albany.