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Kellyanne Fitzgerald

early march anxiety during a war that hasn’t touched me yet

A Poem by Kellyanne Fitzgerald




and i care more about the cats trapped in the warzone

than the people, because cats never deserve it

and i betray my own ideologies every day

and tell myself it’s part of my becoming

not part of an awkward undoing

of someone better, dissolving under my older fingers

like a salt woman staring back at Gomorrah


and i lay in bed and cry and listen to taylor swift

and think about my next doctor appointment

and what color my hair should be at my wedding

and if i would want to know during the end times

that it was really the end


and i walk in the orange soda twilight and think about

the silly sparkling wonder of spring and how it lights

me up every year like the same old blinking neon

sign at a Walgreens, predictable as a headache

pearlescent and muddy


and i think about taxes and nuclear weapons

and packing the apartment to move to a hardwood

apartment full of light and interesting windows

and the way my cat’s nose twitches when she wants me

to give her more whipped cream, and the fact

that something happening to one of my cats

would destroy me in a very precise and thorough way


and i feel guilty that my imagined cat grief

is more real and destructive than imagined family grief

for the eventual fading of relatives i never see

or the refugees who have fewer than four feet

and i have landed among the innocent again

after a wobbly, conflicted circling

like a stork coming down to rest in a pond


and if i was mary oliver i would go out again into the sunset

and it would be enough to have seen something beautiful

and there would be a peaceful end and nothing bad would happen

to cats in war zones


and in the morning i will try it anyway

put on spring like a gossamer raincoat,

and stumble like a baby giraffe

towards my own small life

i will replace the buzzing gray hornets in my mind

with the throaty song of red-winged blackbirds


and the gentle things a thousand miles away

will lay quiet and broken beneath the wheels

no one to remember them

not even me.



Kellyanne Fitzgerald is a writer and artist based in the Chicago area. In her free time she enjoys language learning, fiber arts, and folk art illustration.


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