The Way Cats Wake Up to a Passion of Birds

We don’t remember light. We remember
the dark. The cruelties; the misgivings.
We remember winter and fistfuls
of ice, like cold salt tossed in a face
with contempt, a form of shunning, bitter
the gesture; the censure of wind and snow.

Recalling the sun, we remember an anvil
and a dome that’s a judgment, a compress
of fire, removing old people as if they were weeds 
taken from lawns, pulled with a yank, 
and removed with no chance for appeal. 
And we recall drought. Fields that won’t grow.

Every so often, we’ve a scarcely-there memory
of light, a balm soothing our skin,
and desire in a smile we’d forgotten we had,
and the way cats wake up to a passion of birds.
Now and again, we feel it once more, and see
sunlight, the silk sheet we’ve longed for,
cooler than rain-washed air, warmer than buttered toast, 
the light a discovery: Life’s pretty damn good 
when we forget what we choose to remember.

Looking for more poetry readings? Enjoy these offerings from MockingOwl contributors, along with other poetry and more!

• At Daybreak – Poetry Reading
• Glass Shell – Poetry Reading
• Near Uncas Point – Poetry Reading
• Why Not Horses – Poetry
• Fluff of Delight – Monologue Reading
• Life as a Lamborghini – Poetry

William Wren

+ posts

This author does not have any more posts.