12-12-2013, 11:27 AM
Possession
Ownership has nothing to do
with the midnight feel of four hot feet
and briar toes scoring your back,
or with the fuzz of striping orange
on your pillowcase. There is no master.
There is the whiffling purr of a too-old cat
who walks with a stiffleg wobble,
a drunk on stilts, but hinged--
hinged in the middle to waver toward
the water bowl and hover, shedding.
If he were a man we could sit,
cry in some corridor, sip bad coffee.
The nurses would fawn, and their soles
would sigh, hushing the ward. They're mourning.
They're mourning. Be silent. Be kind.
I'll answer when it rings. The voice
will ripple, and I will sound cold
as if I've lost my next best garden hose.
From now on there will be one head
to a pillow in this house, four legs to a bed.
And who will wake up cold in the night,
dreaming that a cat hums melodies?
Julie Carter
Ownership has nothing to do
with the midnight feel of four hot feet
and briar toes scoring your back,
or with the fuzz of striping orange
on your pillowcase. There is no master.
There is the whiffling purr of a too-old cat
who walks with a stiffleg wobble,
a drunk on stilts, but hinged--
hinged in the middle to waver toward
the water bowl and hover, shedding.
If he were a man we could sit,
cry in some corridor, sip bad coffee.
The nurses would fawn, and their soles
would sigh, hushing the ward. They're mourning.
They're mourning. Be silent. Be kind.
I'll answer when it rings. The voice
will ripple, and I will sound cold
as if I've lost my next best garden hose.
From now on there will be one head
to a pillow in this house, four legs to a bed.
And who will wake up cold in the night,
dreaming that a cat hums melodies?
Julie Carter