cat

i
prodigal daughters
i am a mooncalf
a moon child
the woman who cried moon calf
his cat died i'd heard
in L.A.
he cried so hard for me in
those days
the lean years for poets
now that it's all over
i don't know

ii
indian princess
cherry tomato eyes
mummy's books
daughters of poor folk taking
over her body
the heroine is in full dress
loaded
in a pink Cadillac
the driver's gloves locked tight
around the wheel with her fingertips

iii
i was watching Sumo on TV
when i knew i was too smart
like the four horsemen
had come alive again for a
really good reason
my mind suffers
manuscripts dipped in chocolate fudge
no longer set up
for a lady in motion

iv
the cat at the window tells
me the time of day
i want to lie to myself
and tell somebody i've read
enough today
but i haven't
i'm deep into essays about
women
about choices
women's rights
family
birth right
i know i'll never get pregnant again
so cat tells me to love her
tells me there is a space for women who
don't dream fat stomachs anymore
babies aching for nursing
such a deep subject to ponder
the cat sees me naked
i'm still a woman
knowing a woman's touch

v
what else do i have to
say to make you believe
that there is love
and that's it
no matter how hard i'd try
there would be a delicate hole
in my theory
that poetry of the gifted
is not only for perverts
but is for scholars too
i will call out loud
LOVE
unflinching
and settle with it
call it out again even
though the cat smiles and moans
and animals all the right moves
for me to get abstract about
secretly
i will silently move the pen to follow
a romance novel