by James Montgomery
She kneads and kneads, for 12 years that cat kneads, until the tumour in her throat—discovered 12 months earlier—can be contained by steroids no longer. On her yellow blanket, shallow breaths are the only thing giving. When she came into my life, I didn’t like myself much. But she pulled on my yarn-heart, until all the knots came undone. And wherever she’s going, I need there to be that perfect patch of soil, next to the stone bird bath and old ash, to sunbathe on. A high stool, to view the world from. And an outstretched hand, to forever headbutt with a skull full of love. And I need and need.
lives in the UK. He has won the Pokrass Prize and Retreat West’s best micro fiction prize, and been highly commended in the Bath Flash Fiction Award. James’ stories have been published in various anthologies and literary magazines, and nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net. Find him at www.jamesmontgomerywrites.com
Emerge Literary Journal 