He sits
Upon the railing
Rowling at my window.
His voice
Is melancholy
As though he
Were the last cat
In the world.
I watch
From my window
The night air is cool.
His eyes
Are green as he
Looks up at me.
Green is not envy;
It is lonely.
He leaves
His railing perch,
Rubs once against the post.
His tail,
Three inches long,
Is a bottlebrush,
Held up straight,
As he trots away.
I sit
On my windowsill.
I have no sound for loneliness.
His ears
Have left me
And no one else
Hears or understands
The silent cry.
This poem received Honourable Mention in the 2001 ICWF Fall Contest.
Encouraging InScribe members to share their writings with each other and the world
Awww - nice! I like his "bottlebrush" tail.
ReplyDeleteHi Bonnie,
ReplyDeleteI really like your poem! Especially, "Green is not envy, it is lonely" and also the last stanza and how it compares your lonliness to the cat. I like the imagery. Well done!
Oh Bonnie,
ReplyDeleteThat was incredible. I have a cat that acts just like this. It makes me want to go out and wrap him in a big hug and tell him he's not alone. Well done.