The Poet’s Corner

Cat Trio

Send your poem to Arts & Entertainment Editor Lisa Kristoff at lisakristoff@boothbayregister.com for publication consideration.
Wed, 09/10/2014 - 3:45pm

Boothbay Harbor poet Emily Rand Breitner will be reading her poems as part of the Poetry of Wine program  fundraiser on behalf of the Boothbay Harbor Memorial Library, to be held at Mine Oyster on Pier One, Boothbay Harbor on Saturday, Sept. 13.

Below is an example of Breitner's more recent work.

 

CAT TRIO

 

I. TRUE VALUE: GO IN FOR A LAZY SUSAN,

COME OUT WITH A CAT

 

Near the check-out counter

impulse-buy stuff stacked

at eye level – a cat. His head up

from a circle of brindle fur

pooled into a basket

cool cat, watching –

a Benny Bufano cat, clean

lines of Bufano sculptures.

Scratch his ears, ignition:

a BMW motor.

 

We have been cat-less for so long.

After that final trip to the vet, enough

of loss, better a quiet house, we are enough

with each other, you have your fish

I have my garden.

 

Benny, I say, and scratch his ears,

he rubs my hand, motor shifting

into high gear.

 

NOTE: Benny Bufano (1890-1970), a California-based, Italian-American sculptor, sculpted many different animals in the minimalist Art Deco style.

 

II. IN TRAINING

 

Corkscrew leap

and catnip mouse is history,

you, strut-stepping

through the light-shadowed living room

mouse tail dragging from one side

of your mouth, heading for the screened-in

porch where you watch

the chattering red squirrel frisk

across the oak’s branches, a challenge you

will accept once released outside

for the first time.

 

I hope

you decide that Friskies

chow and a cushion are reward enough

after a successful campaign,

that you return.

 

III. CAT-TAILS

for Bruce Spang

 

Unlike the wordless bottle-brush sticks

rising from lake shallows

and worlds away

from your dog’s thump-thump

love-love semaphore

my cat’s tail telegraphs

its own Morse Code

flick-switch-flick-flick

of independence, freedom

to choose his own way, to snooze,

pounce, play his own game,

to come when he’s good

and ready.

 

As my key turns in the lock

meow! meow!

he’s there at the door,

quivering tail straight up,

and he is glad I’m home

as he runs to his empty

dish. It isn’t Gaza he’s thinking of

or even the precarious state

of big cats in Africa.

Priorities, priorities: food first

then a lick and a love.

 

Later, if I’m very

lucky, he’ll climb up my spine

vertebra by vertebra

and purr in my ear as though

it’s all his own idea

which it usually is.


--Emily Rand Breitner

Boothbay Harbor, Maine

March/April 2014