To Sleep, To Dream

 

Drawing By Frederick Church (1870-80)

 

I wake to purrs, so reach out slow and smooth

not to scare the little ones at rest.

Moving my mouth, I moan in cat meter.

 

Moving the ship of state is a dance art.

Spark and let blaze like a western drought fire,

but in water, in atmosphere. 

 

In my rare dreams, my cats answer questions

unasked while I drink their strongest potions.

We are not yours, they explain. You are ours.

 

So easy, once the conditions are right. 

To make tinder, undercover agents

complete tasks, no questions asked.

 

Do I want to know?  No insist cat gods.

I yawn and stretch. I’m tired and sore, willing

to recline, decline, wink and blink and nod.

 

Many tiny boats in the flotilla

of state float beneath smoke, screams, and sighs, 

turning off sense for todays and tonights.

 

Posted at earthweal open link weekend #135

 My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2022 Susan L. Chast