If it fits; he sits
A cat lives in my larnyx.
curled snug in my vocal folds,
square-bodied, large-jowled, a result
of the fight
& the fight
& the fight
& … you get it.
Did you know those old tomcat cheeks look that way because tissue builds and thickens from testosterone and scars and the various unintended insults of an untended life?
He rumbles a muffled snore, a
contentment of soft darkness
Alight in the reflected beam of
the way I try to use my voice to love you.
The rumble and glow, first feral and now
I scritch beneath his hard-won jaw and I am reminded
I, too, am in the range of my words.
I, too, am allowed to hear the way my voice carries light.
8 thoughts on "If it fits; he sits"
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Delightful! Love the word “scritch” – Lots of layers to the last line!
Thanks, Sylvia! I’m really hoping to have a lot of fun with these this year.
That is a fantastic final line!
Thank you!
I love the repetition in those last two lines!
“He rumbles a muffled snore, a
contentment of soft darkness” may be the best cat description I’ve read in years. Nice.
Rumbles, snores, glows–
The subtle way that anatomy works in the beginning bolsters the importance of voice:
This poem lands on its feet!
adore “scritch”
and the way you landed this great poem:
I scritch beneath his hard-won jaw and I am reminded
I, too, am in the range of my words.
I, too, am allowed to hear the way my voice carries light.