Billy Collins once wrote that the trouble with poetry is that it encourages the writing of more poetry. I think he may be right because today I was inspired to write not one, but two poems. I hope you like them.
Upon Waking Up We Hear Pawsteps *
The bedroom door,
Usually closed in deference to allergies,
Has been left ajar after an early bathroom excursion
And as my husband settles back
Into the still-warm imprint of his body on the bed,
The door is nudged open further still
And we hear the sounds of footsteps,
Announcing the arrival of,
Not a sleepy child in baseball pajamas, no
But a plump, marmalade cat breeching the usual bedroom defenses,
Enjoying his illicit expedition through the wardrobe door,
In search of the attention (and breakfast) he has hungered for
All the long, lonely night.
Sinking himself into a nest of pillows and blankets,
Wedging his feline body between us,
And tapping our bodies with a paw
Whenever we grow remiss in our attentions,
He purrs out his satisfaction
At being this very cat.
Knitting at the Ballpark
I am knitting a scarf at the ballpark,
Forming stitches of soft, thick wool
While the batter rounds the bases.
As I brush a peanut shell
From a cable, I wonder
If it is possible to knit the virtues of this day
Into my scarf, so that
Against the blusters of November
I can wrap around my neck
Warm, June sunshine, the smell of fresh-cut grass
The crack of the bat and the cry of the crowd.