The Cat

Sometimes I write a poem that is instantly one my favorites. I can't wait to share it with a friend thinking that they will say, "Yeah, I really like that one!" It's always a bummer when instead of telling me how much they like it I get a, "Meh," and a forced smile.

Then I'll try reading the same poem at a poetry reading thinking that maybe this time a crowd will like it as much as I do. But when a crowd doesn't even give you a, "Meh," and the echo of bored silence bounces off the walls of the room, it's time to give up, right? WRONG!

While the cat's away

she will play

Stalking

in the moonlit night

the prey

to whet her appetite

Eyes open

Ears alert

Her padded feet

barely touch

the earth

How to control

her instinct to kill

Would be a difficult

impossible skill

And yet

this cat

with prey

in sight

Retracts her claws

Withholds her bite

It would be too easy

to follow through

to fight

to control

is harder to do

This poem is one of my favorites because it marked a turning point in my life. Instead of manipulating and attacking out of fear and anger, I started to want to give and receive trust and love.