Image: Dina Belenko
When I was homeless,
I ceased to believe in poverty.
My headrest a shale of old bones,
stone laceworks my boudoir,
evergreen wine bottles and
smatterings of newspaper my
chamber walls. My mind was a
trash of elements. A waste, perhaps,
of DNA strands as long as a
wingspan, but even vipers have it.
Then—the soft toes of a stray cat,
a rumble in its body akin to my body—
dragged through my salon
into my arms and died.
What fortune in our eyes but
the gift of the current world:
to die while being held tight
by a fool.

Mar von Zellen

Mar von Zellen is a Prague-based writer who’s had poetry published (or is forthcoming) in places like Big Bridge Press, Pretty Owl Poetry, Open Field, Redheaded Stepchild, Sweet Tree Review, Gargoyle Magazine, and others. She was the Editor-in-Chief of The Alligator, an online literary magazine, and worked for Sundress Publications as an Editorial Assistant. She draws inspiration from metaphysics and her overweight cat, Patsy.

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