Yep, another cat poem. I can’t help writing about them. They’re always sitting on me.
The cat is simmering on my legs
A tub of purring fur.
My feet are toasty
In the blanket cave underneath her magma belly.
Toasty feet are happy feet.
This heat could never burn me.
Bound and gagged
I try to reach you
Stretching my soul
My eyes linger, plead, accost
You turn my way
But your eyes are closed
You are absent.
Try try try try try
I can get through to you somehow
I must
You are the only one
Who can free me
I age.
The restroom is up a flight of stairs.
Relieved to see it unoccupied,
I trundle my weight up.
Gasses leak before
I ever reach the door.
I am reminded of old man Charlie.
He too would emit
On the ten yard trip across the room,
The bathroom far too distant
For aged cheeks to fight back
The wayward brew,
Which only a diet rich
In vegetable margarine and sauerkraut
Might engender.
And how will my diet appear
To the next generation
What poor choices of today
Will be paid for
In tomorrow’s intestinal distress?
I make it to the stall without trouble
No emergencies here.
I am still young enough.
I even have time to peer out the window
At the bright sidewalk below.
Just in time to see
Two girls with long legs
Long legs
Legs like herons
Did girls always have legs like that?
Graceful, lean, sun kissed fresh
They talk to one another as they pass
Of girlish things;
unaware of the vulture eye
Two stories above them.
walled in the well
we love the well we live the well
it’s all well here
we dug the well in the dark
we wallow deeper
we want the well
the well wants us
it’s nice
to be buried, alive
no one knows we’re here
where where
are the well people
with oily reflecting eyes
wobbly wet skin
slime in their hair
cold fingers
And webbing, webbing everywhere.
The divine in me greets
The divine in you.
When we hug
The little nebula glowing within you
Aligns with my own, warm and alive.
Everyone has the same basic needs.
We are all drawn with the same line,
Divided out of the same number,
Poured from the same bottle,
Leaves on the same tree.
We are all notes on the same violin
By the same composer.
We move together en masse
We murmurate like starlings
We are a tidal wave.
What kinds of things could we do
If we all leaned in the same direction
If we all jumped at once?
Could we tilt the world?
Sarah D. Silvey 