Taking a Walk in My Animal Hat
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 7, 2020
Saturday, December 21, 2019
Saturday, May 12, 2018
Monday, April 23, 2018
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, December 24, 2010
May Swenson
The Secret in the Cat
I took my cat apart
to see what made him purr.
Like an electric clock
or like the snore
of a warming kettle,
something fizzed and sizzled in him.
Was he a soft car,
the engine bubbling sound?
Was there a wire beneath his fur,
or humming throttle?
I undid his throat.
Within was no stir.
I opened his chest
as though it were a door:
no whisk or rattle there.
I lifted off his skull:
no hiss or murmur.
I halved his little belly
but found no gear,
no cause for static.
So I replaced his lid,
laced his little gut.
His heart into his vest I slid
and buttoned up his throat.
His tail rose to a rod
and beckoned to the air.
Some voltage made him vibrate
warmer than before.
Whiskers and a tail:
perhaps they caught
some radar code
emitted as a pip, a dot-and-dash
of woolen sound.
My cat a kind of tuning fork?—
amplifier?--telegraph?—
doing secret signal work?
His eyes elliptic tubes:
there's a message in his stare.
I stroke him
but cannot find the dial.
From 100 Plus American Poems
I took my cat apart
to see what made him purr.
Like an electric clock
or like the snore
of a warming kettle,
something fizzed and sizzled in him.
Was he a soft car,
the engine bubbling sound?
Was there a wire beneath his fur,
or humming throttle?
I undid his throat.
Within was no stir.
I opened his chest
as though it were a door:
no whisk or rattle there.
I lifted off his skull:
no hiss or murmur.
I halved his little belly
but found no gear,
no cause for static.
So I replaced his lid,
laced his little gut.
His heart into his vest I slid
and buttoned up his throat.
His tail rose to a rod
and beckoned to the air.
Some voltage made him vibrate
warmer than before.
Whiskers and a tail:
perhaps they caught
some radar code
emitted as a pip, a dot-and-dash
of woolen sound.
My cat a kind of tuning fork?—
amplifier?--telegraph?—
doing secret signal work?
His eyes elliptic tubes:
there's a message in his stare.
I stroke him
but cannot find the dial.
From 100 Plus American Poems
Friday, November 26, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
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