Jazzie in her Element
Our cat Jazzie loves to sit on our fence
like the sentinel of an ancient town.
After she sees that we have seen her
as the regal guardian of our home,
she widens her eyes then scratches her way down
the wooden gate, landing lightly on all fours.
I’ll come inside for the night,
but first, notice how pretty my fur is,
her wiggle-and-flounce tells us.
When breeze becomes light wind,
she fixes her gaze to see
what might be swept along –
a leaf, dust, a candy wrapper?
Whatever makes her to stop her nonsense
has nothing to do with what I say or do.
Satori
Sometimes it falls
like a gentle rain
and I race
to grab a pen.
Sometimes
I sit and sit
or take a walk
or vacuum the rug
hoping that
not thinking about it
will serve as catalyst.
Other times I try
an exercise
or turn to
nature, friend, text,
weeding, music,
petting the cat.
Today I tell myself
I don’t have it anymore,
I’ve been fooling myself,
I refuse to prolong
this self-torture –
and that’s when it comes.
Louise Kantro, a retired high school English teacher, is a bridge-player, cat-lover, and CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) for foster children. She received her MFA from Goddard College in 2003 and has published poetry and prose in such journals as Oasis, Cloudbank, The Chariton Review, the new renaissance, South Loop Review, Monterey Poetry Review, and Caesura. Her latest project is scanning a century’s worth of family photos.
Our cat Jazzie loves to sit on our fence
like the sentinel of an ancient town.
After she sees that we have seen her
as the regal guardian of our home,
she widens her eyes then scratches her way down
the wooden gate, landing lightly on all fours.
I’ll come inside for the night,
but first, notice how pretty my fur is,
her wiggle-and-flounce tells us.
When breeze becomes light wind,
she fixes her gaze to see
what might be swept along –
a leaf, dust, a candy wrapper?
Whatever makes her to stop her nonsense
has nothing to do with what I say or do.
Satori
Sometimes it falls
like a gentle rain
and I race
to grab a pen.
Sometimes
I sit and sit
or take a walk
or vacuum the rug
hoping that
not thinking about it
will serve as catalyst.
Other times I try
an exercise
or turn to
nature, friend, text,
weeding, music,
petting the cat.
Today I tell myself
I don’t have it anymore,
I’ve been fooling myself,
I refuse to prolong
this self-torture –
and that’s when it comes.
Louise Kantro, a retired high school English teacher, is a bridge-player, cat-lover, and CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) for foster children. She received her MFA from Goddard College in 2003 and has published poetry and prose in such journals as Oasis, Cloudbank, The Chariton Review, the new renaissance, South Loop Review, Monterey Poetry Review, and Caesura. Her latest project is scanning a century’s worth of family photos.
