Saturday, December 13, 2014


A brindle cat both broad of beam
and bright of eye accosted me
while I was on my morning walk,
demanding in her high clear voice
a wedge of cheese, and gramarye.
I had no victuals to hand
but spells I knew like alphabet.
I taught her how to see the dead
and when to flee a dooméd home.
I showed her flowers she could eat
 to let her hear the breath of mice.
She left me then, her hunger strong
and I strolled on, ignoring all
the outraged curses aimed at me
from tiny voices in the grass.

 copyright Maggie Jochild, written 13 Dec 2014, 8:56 am


Margot said...

Utterly magical. I shall keep coming back to this one.

Natasha said...

Reminds me of Marge Piercy's cat poems. :-)