Kensington Sands had big plans for Halloween. She was nine years old now, and bored with dressing up. She wanted proper thrills and frights. "Grandpa Jonas, can you come over tonight? I've ... [+]
A.J. Rocca's poem, "Your Russian Blue is not Crazy," was originally published in Short Edition’s October '19 Rendez-Vous. A.J. is a writer and filmmaker from Chicago, and he is currently pursuing his Master of Arts in English at Western Illinois University. A.J. likes to write critical essays, short stories, film scripts, and the occasional odd poem.
Your Russian Blue is not crazy when she somersaults off the armchair to run, run run down the end of the room, up a wall, and backflips back— thump—down on delicate paws Your Russian Blue is not crazy when her sonar scope ears and fine twitching whiskers catch and pull her head round spinning the shining silt-green cat's eye peering out into only space and air Your Russian Blue is not crazy when she sees the dust dance on the light, curtains ruffling even though there's not a breeze, or when she hears them whisper under the refrigerator humming Fair folk, fae at the corners of things dec