Elusive
Long thin tail
rounding a corner.
It -the cat- never lets us see,
stalks in shadow below summer's trees.
One evening we forget to take our chicken bits
down to the gulls (ironic that, yet they flock all the same).
The next morning I spot it, or, more accurately, it makes itself
visible: a languorous stretch in golden sunlight, a few quick licks
over its shoulder. I project contentment, a lingering satisfaction,
perhaps a wish to settle into the manifest world: The world of tuna
and drippings, old stew, or the occasional rubbery salmon skin.
Tired habits are hard to shake. Sauntering back to deep shade,
cat doesn't let us catch sight of it again but activates
our motion detector in the wee hours, letting us know
it's still around. I sit wrapped in a woollen blanket
on this dark dreary morning, as wind gusts buffet
sheets of rain against the house. I realize
I've been listening, perhaps hoping
for a small voice, a need for warmth
and company made plain. Unable
to admit it's ready to come
in from the cold, feral
cat remains
elusive
YOU ARE READING
The Smell of Snow
PoetryFrom my home on a tiny island, I smell snow as it begins to fall on the mountains across Baynes Sound. A smell that goes directly up your nostrils with a slight hint of metal or ozone, a bit like refrigerant. And of course I love to confirm my sense...
