With apologies to Mary Oliver
Somewhere downstairs
a medium sized black and white cat
has just risen from sleep
and is staring
down the hallway.
At dawn
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early morning
I think of her,
her four small paws
flicking the litter tray,
her tongue,
like a pink rasp
licking the milk,
the cold meat jelly.
There is only one question:
how to love this cat.
I think of her
rising
like a soft and purry fluff ball
to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of my grandma's old rocking chair.
Whatever else
her life is
with its stretching
and its mice
and its cat-flaps
it is also this snuggly stuborness
coming
up the stairs
scratching and meowing;
all day I think of her -
her cute face,
her contentment,
our purr-fect love.
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 601 times
Written on 2009-12-28 at 12:09
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There is only one question
Somewhere downstairs
a medium sized black and white cat
has just risen from sleep
and is staring
down the hallway.
At dawn
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early morning
I think of her,
her four small paws
flicking the litter tray,
her tongue,
like a pink rasp
licking the milk,
the cold meat jelly.
There is only one question:
how to love this cat.
I think of her
rising
like a soft and purry fluff ball
to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of my grandma's old rocking chair.
Whatever else
her life is
with its stretching
and its mice
and its cat-flaps
it is also this snuggly stuborness
coming
up the stairs
scratching and meowing;
all day I think of her -
her cute face,
her contentment,
our purr-fect love.
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 601 times
Written on 2009-12-28 at 12:09
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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