The Cat Poem by Cathy Smith

the cat
and the splattering raindrops
leaped about like they
were scattering the threads
of tangled puddles - scary
mirrors. toweling
herself dry, the cat
smoothed her velvet fur
with a scratchy
small-tongued comb.

the other cat ran
underneath the house
and was
quiet, watching
the rain, sitting and
lying in the curly shell
of an old cushion inside
of a woven straw basket
we use to pick strawberries with -
protected by the eaves of the
house. the house was an
over-sized hat with wings,
purple-y wooden knobs
and gingery-gray jigsawed
scalloped shingles
on orange siding.

the basket was woven into
square straw sections
and was a little torn -
so that the top of it looked
like splinters of wood
or grain straws,
or something to press into
the clay on the bank of a river
and decorate with
small pieces of colored glass and
silver wire.


Copyright c Cathy Smith in Apple Cider,1993