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by Julie Benesh

I want to die

a morphine fiend,

like my M-browed

tabby, Mandy. I’d shoot


her up; read her love

poems; sing lullabies.

She’d dance and chirp

her gratitude. No



(o, Mother!)



Now I glimpse her

in every successive

cat, (as, I admit, my Major

Boyfriends sometimes blur

together in my synapses)


hoping you, love,

will likewise,

often, remember me.

About the Author

A graduate of Warren Wilson College’s Program for Writers, Julie Benesh is recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Grant and her writing can be found in Bestial Noise: A Tin House Fiction Reader, Tin House Magazine (print), Crab Orchard Review, Florida Review, Gulf Stream, Hobart, New World Writing, Cleaver, Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, and many other places. Read more at and reach her at

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