Tag Archives: love
Cats and Wives
Cats and Wives
My cat loves me but swipes with razor claws
so people say I should give him away because
he sometimes hooks one in me. It's scary,
granted, and painful to watch a thin line of red
open up along my arm or leg. You rat for a cat!
Once again you've done your master harm.
But those same people who say give him away
don't see him rubbing my shins at 4 a.m. when
my feet hit the floor and here comes Buddy Boy
with steady tread and so happy to see me again!
Then he sits on my chest purring and splays
two white paws with ten sharp claws that
very softly begin kneading me, each claw
a pinprick of a veiled and potential threat
hinting at a deep gash and blood flowing red.
Instead, I delight in watching him purring
and loving and kneading me. And sure,
that rascal melts my butter when he looks
me in the eyes and says: "You trust me
not to rip your heart out, don't you?"
You bet your horse, and your ass, that I,
thinking of consequences, gulp and say yes!
Now, wise men say truth hurts but it's love
that sets you free. I ponder this as my cat sits
idly on me, loving and kneading me,
purring and smiting me just as you sit idly
on my heart, purring and smiting me,
loving and needing me, pinpricking me
with your claws, saying: "You trust me
not to rip your heart out, don't you?
And again -- I gulp and say yes!
Now, Eckhart Tolle says he's known
a few Zen masters -- all of them cats.
Interesting. I think my little boy, whom
I found as a kitten trembling and starving
under a car, isn't into Zen. I think he favors paws,
claws and mice -- not meditation. And you my dear?
You're a woman. An enigma. A complete mystery.
I know little about cats. Even less about women.
What Would I Do Without You?
What would I do without you who always has my back
My front and sides? Let’s just call it: you have all of me.
Belly to brisket, head to toes, that is how our river flows.
So thanks, because I can’t always hold myself.
Sometimes I run through my fingers like water.
Now there’s a helpless feeling for you. Other times
I’m fire. I burn things down. No, that doesn’t capture
The size of it. I burn everything down. I flatten shit,
Level earth. Rising with Pluto in Leo, I destroy.
And when nothing’s left, when only ashes remain
You’re still next to me, you little Phoenix. Ma petit bijou.
You don’t call me an idiot. You hand me a hammer
And a bag of nails and, mad as hell, tell me to get busy.
(By the way: I hate it when you do that.) But you stay.
So thank you for that, thank you with all of my heart.
Words could never flesh out the depths of my gratitude.
So what would I do without you? That’s easy. I’d be dead
and buried long ago, one of many crosses in a row probably
next to a busy road cars drive on all day, keeping me from
a good rest, which I never got while alive, either. So yes,
thank you, thank you very much for saving me from that.
Besides, remember? I wanted to be cremated anyway.