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Omar, Are You Sleeping? MAG
The morning I turned seven
my mother woke me earlier than usual
and led me, crusty-eyed, to the living room
where in a box lay a new Siamese.
And since that day I haven’t
ever slept alone; beside me he lies all curled up,
head tucked against his belly
like any other cat would
except that his eyes are always half open
the whites gleaming like pearl buttons through the slits.
And for that my father calls him Liberace
after the piano great who had one too many facelifts.
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