Poem titled "3 a.m. or maybe 3 p.m." by Damia Walker. In the background, 4 silhouettes of black cats jump onto and then walk on a bed. 3 black scribbles grow bigger above them. The poem reads: "The sound of my cat jumping from the dresser is a blue and white checkered pattern. I wake up to him landing on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. It’s well past noon again. I wince when I realize that I’m eight days older than I was eight days ago. The Future is screaming from down the hall for me to get my shit together, but I plug my ears and fall back Asleep"