The light shines in from the window. The blinds do not work in this room,
or if they do I haven't twisted them enough to block out the street lights
that tempt my eyes as I lay in the dark. In the daytime,
sleep tempts me with each word I read, with each sip of a hot drink.
I've learned that I'm no good at sharing, but that I live with people
who are good at sharing, so I either have to get a bit better at allowing others to take my stuff
or say fuck off entirely,
I want every last drop of milk to myself. But no one can do this alone;
I don't ever buy butter, and my bags of tea
don't last as long as they would if it were
just me. I will doze off just like I always do, after the words
on the screen become little hands that reach out to pull my eyelids down to my chin,
and my own hands become warm until they go completely still,
and my thoughts become dreams that my bed is not where I am.
My name is Cat Terrell, I am 21 years old, and I'm a poet, musician, mathematician, you get the idea. I like writing poetry that evokes very specific images, and I especially like it when the words I happen to choose have a lot of assonance between them. The poems published here are my first ever published anywhere, and most of them revolve around an incidental theme: growing up. When I'm not writing poetry I am spending time with friends, or going on a walk in nature, or reading. I am so grateful for the three poetry courses I took at PCC that expanded my poetry knowledge and subsequent worldview, so thank you to Van Wheeler, Mia Caruso, and Chrys Tobey for being excellent instructors.