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Look at This Little Life - Kait Quinn

Every day is the same.

Every day sunlight

and the cat's hoarse pleas

spill through

the crack beneath the bedroom

door, pool citrine on wooden

floor. Look at this little carnivore, his irises

every shade of rainforest,

papier-mâchéd papyrus, pupils

eager and dilated, belly shaved

from the ultrasound,

the mass in his stomach ticking.

Every day

the espresso beans riff

with the grinder, bass rumble

of extraction, the steamer's hushed copper

percussion. Look at this little life:

these blankets crocheted with fleece

and love, these little jars of

hyaluronic and glycolic acids,

nightly rituals bottled in amber.

Every day I light one

of my twelve candles.

Every day I choose decaf.

Every day the dog is just as happy

to see me as he was the day before, hour

before, just three minutes before.

Every day the maple

is right where I left it.

Come mid-October, she will trade

her emeralds for golden

tourmaline, still stand

the same sage and hyssop

guardian I left her as last night.


Kait Quinn (she/her) was born with salt in her wounds. She flushes the sting of living by writing poetry. Her work has appeared in Reed Magazine, Watershed Review, Chestnut Review, and elsewhere. She received first place in the League of MN Poets’ 2022 John Calvin Rezmerski Memorial Grand Prize. She enjoys repetition, coffee shops, and vegan breakfast foods. Kait lives in Minneapolis with her partner, their regal cat, and their very polite Aussie mix. Find her at


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