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
A self-described “established-unestablished writer”, William Wren’s story “Clock” was published in Agnes and True, and other stories and poems of his have appeared in OpenDoor Magazine. William lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick, and has worked as a writer in radio, the web, and for other business venues. His personal website is billwren.com.
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