Isis: elegy to my cat who's still with me

or, my lesbian lover II.




Like autumn bears the brunt

of winter yet to come

-- ambritch, scratch those strictures!

sharpen, shorten your claws!

on the loose pine of my first dining room

mostly banished to my office --

She will not eat.

I grant her the lions' share of all protein

sharpen my knife to slender the sashimi

I want to eat it

glob the jellied to treat you in.

He said we were joined at the hip.

Sometimes she sleeps on my head

but always near me.

And now when you want me

the tips of sharp on my eyelids

you pat the stringed, you batter, on my face.

I paid hours in a spitting winter's morn

darkness, way before the sunrise and gladly 

hours smooggling Oh, what's the word?

you were so shy, I flunked the exam

in love with Dómino, when you writhed 

on the concrete scratching 

your spine suggesting hers could be part of

casting off your sweet scents, I think.

Your back had all the snake joints tho' she exposed her belly, too 

(and under the jaw, streaming ready and offered

I give you my naked. Simple,

will you take it? or)

someone gave me some squash

it was a my

and was mystery, but it 

had a waist. Butternut, and not spaghetti. You have a waist

and I wish you didn't so much. Too thin.

Of the triangle, the queen Dómino 

keepin' the peace 'til she was gone

and I put her in the bathtub so you 

could at least know the solid.

Singing out your forlorn

returning with your small nest

brothers and sisters with the same

or maybe, your kith and kine.

Each reached with spangling fingers

and flung the kibble like hockey pucks, or sticks

or fingered the juggled on back-feet, walking

while shivering the substance, 

hovering and I wondered. Is that what you gave me?

Give me? and your blackness, your gorilla nose, 

with the shadow-pale, pearl-heart kindnest under

the day-blind stars the aftermath long-lithe, smoothe 

the lists of cheetahs in your temple,

Isis. How can I carry on knowing

you do this in your solitude

(you accept or come looking 

for me to clean your eyes, and the most intrusive,

tender inside ears, a scratch a hug a look)

ready to be accepting of what you don't relate to, but can

come hither with the wantingness

the cry.

There's the other, the one you finally

glommed onto (and another in the wings, an you're willing). She.

She was, she is, gone.

How can you reach? for just the

one who calls, singing (me)

what she hopes will bring you

babble, and you always come

yet, do not know your name.

An' the sun came down like lobsters,

the snow an icy blanket, it hurts me;

but I warm myself in your breathing.

And I check, like a new mother, crowding the crib. 

Fur. At least whimples of meaning.

What shall I do with that least mousling?

Why or how did you kill that tiny prey? I mean,

I get that. But why leave it behind?

Today left instead of all your fuzz toys

saying at the meal tray, assigning, in that she does not ascribe as good

i.e. you do not approve of the menu

and if you eschew the mousling:

once, I picked up half a shrew, maybe more

this time, looks like sleeping.

"She and I share a magnificent understanding, now. No one can"

and threw it out the backdoor. It goes on.

"People have always trusted me with their secrets. Who shall I trust with mine?"

"This last month has been the most delicious time of my life. Of course,

we've had our ups and downs. The pressure is intense, when women share their lives.

But oh, what marvelous intensity, it is. Circumstances are not always ideal. The swinish press. The stringent bail terms. Meetings with lawyers, and so on. But all things considered, we're coping admirably. In fact, gold stars abundant. The cuckold permits her to see her children once a week. There are usually tears. And. fits of teenage tantrums, too. In time, she'll recognise she's just not the mothering kind."

Keening. I forgot to teach you English, Isis.

Shhh. Just go with it. A cat's way.