If you haven't been to Laurie's today, do go. As most of our gentle readers know, Laurie lost her dear, grumpy Drewey on Thursday. The outpouring of the IBKC internet family has been truly heartwarming.
I'm repeating the poem here, just so I'll always know where I can find it. RIP sweet Drewey, and all our furiends who have gone on to the Rainbow Bridge.
Pushkin by Marjorie Kowalski Cole
The old cat sleeps
in the newly arrived sun. One more spring
has come his way
dropping a solar bath
on failing kidneys, old cat bones.
I check for the rise and fall of breath.
Once he stalked hares
across the yard, tracked down
chicken hearts with split-lentil eyes.
Fearless, disinterested, a poseur, a demideity.
He and the dog are strangers still
after years of eating side by side.
I remember times of wailing
into my couch, alone
and utterly baffled by life,
when suddenly a cat
would be sitting on my head.
Last week I pulled him snarling
from under a chair in Dr. Bacon's office,
held him while she examined his dull coat,
felt his ribs. Pressed where it hurt.
Eight pounds of fur and bone and mad as hell
but "He's certainly less anxious in your lap,"
she murmured, astonishing me.
I had no idea. Old cat, old friend,
have I reached some place inside,
added to your life
as you have to mine?
The old cat sleeps
in the newly arrived sun. One more spring
has come his way
dropping a solar bath
on failing kidneys, old cat bones.
I check for the rise and fall of breath.
Once he stalked hares
across the yard, tracked down
chicken hearts with split-lentil eyes.
Fearless, disinterested, a poseur, a demideity.
He and the dog are strangers still
after years of eating side by side.
I remember times of wailing
into my couch, alone
and utterly baffled by life,
when suddenly a cat
would be sitting on my head.
Last week I pulled him snarling
from under a chair in Dr. Bacon's office,
held him while she examined his dull coat,
felt his ribs. Pressed where it hurt.
Eight pounds of fur and bone and mad as hell
but "He's certainly less anxious in your lap,"
she murmured, astonishing me.
I had no idea. Old cat, old friend,
have I reached some place inside,
added to your life
as you have to mine?
That is a very nice poem and I was glad to hear that Charlene is doing okay. Y'all have a wonderful Easter!
ReplyDeleteHappy Easter !!
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Kareltje =^.^=
Anya :)
That is a great poem...I love the "Eight pounds of fur and bone and mad as hell"...replace "eight" with "six" and that pretty much describes Bino at the vet...
ReplyDeleteLove the name Pushkin for a kitty...when we adopted Mishka, his name was "Beakman" and my choices for re-naming him were between Mishka and Pushkin...maybe my next kitty will be Pushkin :)
thanks for sharing this, lisa. it's such a touching poem. xo laurie
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