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by Laura Stamps
Source: Cat Daze, (2004) p.20
My youngest cat is a moon
child, governed not by a single
phase - a full moon or first
quarter - but by every twitch
and tumble of the lunar body.
An hour before dawn,
and a purple notebook becomes
an accidental traveler
when it slips from my fingers
to skid across the sofa,
landing in the green sea
of the carpet, where it floats
for a moment, its alphabets
and wisdom content to rest
next to a curious cat agitated
all moring by a glimpse
of something furry and feral
outside the window: another
cat slinking through the tall
grasses under the white paw
of a September moon.
So I close my eyes and focus
on the fact that I am not
my body, that one day
this body shall roll over
and fold its mossy wings-
but I am divine, and my spirit
will alsways fly, making today
another day for rejoicing,
for twirling like a thistle
in the wind, my arms a swirl
of moth wings white as summer
magnolias, my hear marbled
with star-song, turning
beneath the jeweled purse
of a southern moon.
------------------
Cat Daze
by Laura Stamps
Source: Cat Daze, p.5
The clouds today
are swift chalk strokes
skipping across the faux
marble of a cerulean sky,
and I am typing, when the cat
that's always in trouble
wobbles past me, wearing
a square tissue box
over her head, weaving
in a world that is suddenly
as murky as the ebony
gloss of a crow.
I twist the box from her neck,
and she gallops across
the hall, her ears
swimming with the slick
voice of mischief.
Later, interrupted again,
I turn toward an odd
thumping behind my chair,
where my youngest cat
slumps in the corner,
the tissue box planted
on on his head, while he bangs
against the wall, a prisoner
in a cardboard cage
as opaque as the petals
of a a black pansy.
I remove the box, and he rolls
on the floor, a pilgrim
happy to be free, as relieved
as any of us when we emerge
from our wanderings
in the sunless valley
to embrace the glorious
leaf-shine fo the light.
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