Luna
See the depression
in my bed, and the cat
who fills it
with her tabby curl,
she saves me
from falling, one
moon paw
resting on my wrist.
See her wild face,
cat lives here
like a lioness
and the quilt,
a gift of the hunt,
she fills it with bees
and some honey.
I can hear their humming.
“Listen” she commands
and her tail
strokes my arm.
Sometimes she acts
like I should rouse myself
to pet her
but I keep my hands hidden
beneath the feral pillows -
savage bed, how timely
cat comes to me,
just as the night arrives.
Liquid Cat
See the liquid cat
contained in sunlight's basin
in the vase of the garden,
see her pour onto the grass
trickle through the crocus
seep into the cedar shadow.
She is the daily cat
aroll at my doorstep, all meow -
and now she furs me.
I sit too silently, my ankles
are sumac trunks,
my hands reach down
like sliding sweetpea climbers
startled from their clinging
and I gentle her,
the cat expects this now, my hand
with nothing better to do.
Cat comes to me
Cat's fur is a summer tide,
she rolls with the seal of night,
on the shore where no one
camps, she leaps
at every snap of the fire.
Cat meows through a mouthful
of gift, dead thrush for the hearth,
for the clay where wings are pressed.
Cat sings
about calling and calling
from a phone booth, on the edge
of a freeway through the Prairies.
Cat crouches low in wheat,
her shadows school
and dart. Cat comes to me
from the hydrothermal springs,
pulling her ropes of purr,
she crosses the Rockies,
the forbidden places,
the counters and faces.
Cat drops to floors of loam
and cedar, her paws bring the moon.
Cat comes to me,
her breath a pocket
of tongue,
my pillow opens
its window for her
and she sleeps.
She sings Luna Luna
She's in the water again
every day, in the water
although I try to warn her
pat her with my unclawed
front left as she surely
risks death, and wet
is everywhere. I lick it
from her shoulder, touch
my front right to its surface
:See: I growl, but she
sees not. The best for it
is to attend. The smooth
edge is perchable
and balance is my pride.
I keep my silence
and she sings
the naming song
for me. I leave her then,
search for the kittens
or the white fur
or the smaller she
asleep in her tree bed.
Later I'll lie on the middle of her
and ride the breath canoe
Deep swells of night
will join us where her long paddles
dip and swing across my back.Luna was a lovely long hair brown tabby who lived with us for over 16 years. We welcomed her as a very tiny kitty in 2006 when Yvonne was just 11 years old. She had a grand life, much of it rescuing me from myself, my sorrows, my illnesses, my bad dreams. That’s what cats do. They come near, share their warmth and purr. And purr. And purr.
These four poems were written over the years of Luna’s life, the final one was an attempt to write from Luna’s point of view. I did have a name-song for her and sung it often to call her in from the wild outdoors, or to bring her to my bed at nap time.
RIP Lovely Luna.
