Ah. This is awkward. Today’s prompt is to name your poem “My (fill in), the (fill in).” For some reason cat and alchemist were in my brain, and I didn’t manage to exorcise them before they started to become a poem. Silly, perhaps, or campy, but something in me sort of likes it.
My Cat, the Alchemist
He takes me in my sleeping state
and transmutes me to my waking self,
reaching through the gates
between those two worlds
with a cry like a human babe
and claws that shred
the stuff of dreams
to ribbons of image,
figments of half-memory,
and I am running faster
down that railroad bridge,
running from a lion
who keeps calling my name,
I am pulled from my quiet wanderings
through the empty rooms of a house
I both know and don’t know.
Some nights I can pull myself
gently back between the bars,
mend the tattered cloth of dream
and sail back into my night voyages.
Often, though, I find myself
wriggling and twisting, caught
in the bars between worlds,
neither quite here, nor quite there,
but an industrial purr beside me
and a small warm body against my leg.
1. Yes, I am utterly and unquenchably redundant, but have you seen the pink trees? Pink Trees. Number one on my gratitude list. Pink, pink, pink, pink, pink. “That’s nice,” says Joss, “because pink is my new favorite color.” <Yes!>
2. Dinner with the dormies. That was fun and yummy. We took a walk afterward, and a student’s father yelled out his car window that he loves to see families out walking together.
3. Random blessings from strangers. See #2.
4. The Lego Museum. Halfway through the DC day yesterday, Joss said, “I want to go home now. I want to make a Lego Museum.” Art imitates life. He could only take in so much before he had to go start creating in response to it.
May we walk in Beauty!