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The woman decides 
on which cat to take home
from the local pound.

She had been torn 
between two. 

She had viewed
a youngish grey-white 
cat, nervous, bold.

And uncomfortable-
looking. Yet his fur
colors remind 

the woman 
of storm-clouds, 
heavy August afternoons

rowing an uncle's 
little row-boat
on the pond

with the wooden raft 
that pulls and BUOYS

her. Yet...like sun-light
fulfilling the morning 
with its shine, 

an older cat
with deepest yellows
and an edge of sea

in her eyes,
convinces the woman
to choose HER

orange"fluff",
that sprouts 
from her skin, 

like dandelion seeds
when they are ready 
to fling 

through the breezes
to plow new roots.

HER orange
is a brush 
of the hand 

on something soft,
to soothe, tantalize.

While the woman 
considers, she
has an evocation:

like...

an orange 
star-burst-
sparklers

in her hand-
tangy sweet tart
flavors in her mouth.

She knows 
a Summer sky.

She anticipates
the sharp eruption
that will alight 

her tongue, 
her gums,
her throat.

The 
inundation,
of taste...

or...
maybe...

her mouth 
can't quite... 
take it, but 

-loves it-

She contemplates
the gold sienna

 (of
her new
cat)

her breakfast juice, 
maybe even 
“Tang".

A clementine,
one amongst 
a bowl-ful;

an 
orange Grove;
the LIFE-SAVER?

Dark orange flames 
to warm her,

like the only friend...
in childhood.

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