By Glen Armstrong
“I can read the plastic philodendron’s mind. I can sequence additional claws,” explained the cat, whose casual tone obscured the unnatural blurring of feline and human. “I understand all mysteries involving footwear, all dualities involving love and rain.” The animal entered a plain brown paper bag and turned itself around without disturbing a single wrinkle or crinkle, without making a sound, then poked its shallow muzzle from the undisturbed bag. “I now think of the ball of yarn as a younger sibling, of the mouse as something I’ve conquered out of necessity. I would allow the mouse its dignity if not for its constant efforts to be more than a mouse.”
Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three recent chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch), In Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press). His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit, and Cloudbank.