The Cat's Song
by Marge Piercy
Mine,
says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness.
My
lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says
the
cat making on your chest his gesture of drawing
milk
from his mother’s forgotten breasts.
Let
us walk in the woods, says the cat.
I’ll
teach you to read the tabloid of scents,
to
fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to hunt.
Now
I lay this plump warm mouse on your mat.
You
feed me, I try to feed you, we are friends,
says
the cat, although I am more equal than you.
Can
you leap twenty times the height of your body?
Can
you run up and down trees? Jump between roofs?
Let
us rub our bodies together and talk of touch.
My
emotions are pure as salt crystals and as hard.
My
lusts glow like my eyes. I sing to you in the mornings
walking
round and round your bed and into your face.
Come
I will teach you to dance as naturally
as
falling asleep and waking and stretching long, long.
I
speak greed with my paws and fear with my whiskers.
Envy
lashes my tail. Love speaks me entire, a word
of
fur. I will teach you to be still as an egg
and to slip like the ghost of wind through the
grass.
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