A poem by Madhuri.
Both of them stare at us without speaking.
They change positions constantly –
leaping or reclining.
They like high places
to gaze down from.
They like rumbustious nights
of expansiveness.
Both are familiars for witches
and hopeful wizards.
They give us something to circle around,
gazing at its rounded skull.
And though a cat may yell
the moon does too, in storms.
And in tropic latitudes,
beloved of travel brochures
might not the moon be said to purr?
Both of them wait for us to finish work
so that we can play.
Both love attention
and repay it gratefully
with rolling, and regard
and mysterious lessons
made of autumn leaf and snowfall
and soft-pad feet.
But mostly it’s the big
goggly eyes
just taking everything in;
opening the ones in our backs.
They teach us how to be awake,
yet silent;
and persuade us towards being in love
when we thought we weren’t at all.
Feb. ’16, Hebden Bridge
This poem has been included in Madhuri’s poetry book, Flying Lady with Cat, madhurijewel.com/cat
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