Cat on a Wood Pile
Once again I find myself exhausted at the end of the day and flirting with the idea of not posting a poem, which wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I’ll push through and post something. My sisters visiting now, with her husband and two kids, so that explains some of my fatigue, but on to a short poem.
Cat on a Wood Pile
Cat sleeps on the wood pile,
bleeding calico and rhythm.
I sit in a lime green lawn chair
a few feet away,
or a million miles.
The sun splits the distance
between us.
A boundary or,
maybe,
a thread connecting us
in harmony.
written for the april poem-a-day every-once-in-a-while exercise
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