LINE BREAKS & OTHER VIOLENT CRIMES: "February," by Margaret Atwood
Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something. He…
I never love poems and I LOVE this poem by Margaret Atwood
I'm Sarah Stodola, the author of Process: The Writing Lives of Great Authors (Summer 2014). 