Today's poem is by Asa Boxer
Enjoying rest, the feral house-cat wears her twilight coat, curls up,
and disappears among the waves of a rumpled blanket. So softly does she sleep,
it seems birds could fold safely into her paws, mice slip out of her pockets.
But in her brain, the owl flicks awake the dim lanterns of its eyes.
The mice stash their tiny beds safely under the boards of the hardwood floors.
The birds have worried in the eaves, tucking in their quiet nests, weaving whirlwinds
of twigs, pine needles, and string from the forest's busy kitchen, where the fall
is cooking up a dreadful storm; mixing in every wild spice the forest can afford.
The woodpecker has peppered the trees and peppered the air with its knocking.
By ant-back, bee-sock, and squirrel-cheek, the forest is getting carried away.
The forest is shedding and shifting while the cat twitches an ear, listening
as the porcupine munches the main beam of the house down to the sweet core.
When the main beam snaps and the house leans with a groan of steel and wood,
when its hidden shelters crack and betray the mice at their gnawing, the eyelids
of the cat will split, her eyes break open, her claws slip out. She'll leap at the bird,
toy with the mouse, and hunt till the buzz of the forest is caught.
Copyright © 2006 Asa Boxer All rights reserved
from Poetry London
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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