Literary Vegan

my one consolation, as if it were mine at its rise. I wake in star form, iris to iris — the original glass in me burning forward, then bursting out in dented fragments of light articulation: the feeling of being known for a few silent, sparkling, seconds before my borrowed eyelids close — confusion folds in  skin and I feel paper again  to someone else's concept of fire. C. LJ Ireton, 2026  (*From Frankenstein's monster)

What words can I use to express my gratitude  for the sun returning? I cross the room and my cat is claw to claw basking in the slant lines of Spring light gilt through the window like she's been given jewellery.  She's saying it for me.  C. LJ Ireton 2026