Such cold and kindly happening
is worthy of full attention.
At least the  cat thinks so.
What does she know?  She’s only
a lump of golden fur on a red rug
sitting immobile, mesmerized
by motion on the other side of glass,
a constancy of flakes falling
soundlessly to the white earth.

What does she know of consequences
difficult for drivers of our trucks and cars,
for keepers of the fire, for bones
whose trembling tells their skin
that they should be in Florida?
Maybe all the cat can know is
absentmindedness about these things.

Maybe she is seeing only visions
of a world of only happening
where sorely needed softness
sometimes falls for hours on end;
where, if you should look
most deeply into weather, you
might sometime see a friend.

4 responses »

  1. This poem reminds me of my cat and the need to be in the moment and just enjoy the beauty of nature. The media outlets, in spite of their good intentions to warn people and drivers, have caused such panic and chaos. I’m nostalgic for the good old days when people( neighbors) shared food, company, and helping hands. Everyone enjoyed the silence of nature and its mysterious flakes. I just loved this poem. Let’s learn from our wise pets.

  2. I’ve been enjoying this one again Cynthia. It is unrhymed free verse but there are all those echoes of consonents and vowels which are pleasing. Then there is the unexpected ending which changes the mood and sends me right back to the beginning to look at the whole thing through different eyes. It’s a subtly rewarding poem. I love it.

    • Still morning, here, and an ugly, smugly one at that. But it’s a bright spot to receive this comment about a cat and snowfall. I do like this poem, too,, because it is one of those that seems to come (too infrequently!) on its own without a whole lot of struggling on my part. I have a sneaky suspicion it was dictated to me by the cat! Merci, Mon ami

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