Mom cat

A mom cat is messing and not gone
With the kitten held by loose scruff.

Mom cat is searching for other night
On another hot roof, on scalded feet.

Kitten turns  small night’s scraping.
The scraping of the night is a sound

In the inner lobe of the ear’s poems.
Cats are poems on your hot tin roof.

They sky-drop flowing a rain water
Snaking through roof corrugations.

(A gentle recall of Raja Rao’s novel The Cat and Shakespeare)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s