What blood was this, and what roses? It could have been the rose of union, the blood of murder, or the rose of beauty bare and the blood of some unspeakable sacrifice or birth.
-- Annie Dillard
It is Spring:
the old tom cat
leaves blood prints on the porch.
I hate them and the open throated swallow
at the end of their serpentine path.
I hate them as I hate the hyacinth scent
that hangs stale in the air these mornings,
and how I have never learned to look away.
All journeys end this way. What’s the surprise?
And yet, how handsome the old tom looks
reclining beneath the azalea bush,
licking his jaws with his pink tongue,
purring like a lion.
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you know how to end poems.
ReplyDeleteand i mean that as an awesome compliment.
I agree with Bri-Bri. And the old tom cat! I love him. Especially under the azalea bush.
ReplyDeleteand yes, you should come to Drink & Walk one of these Thursdays, if possible. Especially considering Dan is leaving soon, and especially considering the Lorax.
Also, I have your 107 portfolio and anthology (from Davey-Bear). Come get it some time.
Aw.
ReplyDeleteI am looking for an excuse to get up there, but. You know. Douchechill.
kate....if i had a mental disability id say something like
ReplyDelete"you come my pardy"
instead...i'll cordially invite you to my graduation party on may 19th at 6pm(im not sure if your planning on coming up here for grad weekend...but if you do itd mean alot if you would come my pardy)!