"On mere cats"
Is there any doubt cats
preparing for sleep can make
the most substantial mattress
shake as if tectonic plates
should shift in response
to the devout ministrations
of the tongue?
Their collar bells ring a vesper
keeping faith with the night. We put
our hands together, clasp a silent prayer,
lay down our palms just one clashing
moment away from giving it up in praise.
At the end of the day we sway
the stirring of our own wind, a song
to keep from the private places we haunt
like cats. Then we fan our frond fingers
like a peacock’s tail, hide behind
up-dangled eye-spangled feathers,
cast our own gaze down.
Always we will bend our branches
to the weight of cats that know
the value of the bird in hand,
and collect like dust on an invitation
merely being offered without regrets.
And we wait for rough tongues to translate
our devotions into the smooth coat
of reason. Which is why cats must
settle the doctrinal disputes
with their own fur with such violence
before they rest--palming tomorrow
like certainty is a birdsong
they can catch.
© 2006 Sue Kay
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