The late Douglas Clark used to do lots of cat poetry. I almost never do.
But the current occupant of my home has inspired me by his interesting
lifestyle. The second of the two is time-stamped because it's shortly
after he woke me up and when I just dashed down anything.
JAILBREAK
The cat has gone missing. I have seen them die,
be surrendered, but this is a first: become
Dora the Explorer, anxious to hit the road
(his name is not even Jack), anxious to leave
me here between grief and fear, turned to
anthropomorphic monsters risen from
the imaginary sewer into the unseen
fears from my own worst self. Is he dead?
Has he found a new friend and gone a-Maying?
He can't do much with a cat named Corinna,
he was neutered long ago, so it's playtime,
pure, carousing 'cross the countryside,
smelling the roses, perhaps a dinner of mice,
of squirrels. Who can know?
A friend assures me he is a natural-born killer
and his domestic mask is his fraud against the world,
if he goes out he must hunt to live, and
life is his prime directive, his mission.
If he comes back to me it will also be his will,
a love still pure, divorced from hunger,
come home again because love, too, is in his will.
JOY
I do not have the words for joy
so much misery and heartbreak
for so long and suddenly
headbutted by my lost cat
1:40 AM, the face staring at me
Why are you sleeping old fart
I am home after four days
I am hungry there were no field-mice
so feed me get up feed me.
There are no words only crying
holding him to me a Mary Oliver moment
holding him to me like my very life
depends on him
for it has and does gray is dispelled
banish misfortune indeed
he has banished it answered prayers
a full food dish and water all his
my tears are my life returned
colors where was only shadows and dust
four-legged child where there was only
the orphaned ancient child.
May 22 2014, 4:21 AM
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