for Helen Crosby Lewy

The wind howls
blows and recedes
and blows again

French windows strain to bursting point
the house creaks like a ship

a Siamese cat of our acquaintance
with intelligent eyes
looks up for an explanation
at times an adoring cat
at times a perfect stranger

if things get worse, would she run?
would she disappear?
or would she trust us
against the violent storm
draw closer to us for protection
as she sometimes does?

there are moments
when she looks like the Egyptian cat in the museum
with a gold ring in its nose
and powerful sloping shoulders

I would like to ask her
“Are you that cat? Akhenaten’s minister?”

her slate-blue eyes would answer with a steady gaze—
in a fit of pique, she could do anything—
if the storm gets worse, she may side with the storm

 

Stuart Dodds

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