Friday, March 13, 2009

Poetry Friday

A note before we get to today's poem: I'm shifting my year-with-Carl-Sandburg project over to Saturdays. (Better alliteration that way -- "Sandburg Saturdays.")

The Black and White Cat

I first saw it drinking from a snow
puddle in our back yard, and I
assumed it was a stray. Its fur was
thick, its caution thicker. There was
watchfulness, and weariness, though
perhaps the latter I simply imagined.
Days later I saw it traveling along
the fence line, moving quickly and
carefully. My eyes took in its
skittishness and fear, until its four
feet ventured beyond my line of
sight. We of two cats, the thought
of offering shelter couldn’t even
flicker into my mind. But perhaps I
was wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t truly a
stray. For the cat, dead in the road
this morning, wasn’t there very long
before some kind soul collected it,
and took it in.

1 comment:

Lori Van Hoesen said...

Oh my gosh. How very sad. Lovely poem to honor the cat, though.