Leave your worries on the pad
beside the bed—maybe it’s on the bed
next to the cat curled into oblivion.

She can sleep. Why can’t you?

The pad, the journal, the page
can take whatever you throw on it.
It’s a sturdy thing, after all,

and once you’ve scribbled the
what its, whyfors and whatnots,
you can let go of them

and maybe, just maybe—you
can pat the sleeping kitty
and curl up, too,

the words waiting for you
tomorrow, should you want
to pick them up again.