The Room
THE ROOM
I’ve a wish
To spend my musings on little things simple things
Little thoughts each in its place
Little items about my room perfectly fixed
(woods may be full of paper bits of discard
the footprints of children abundant
and their leavings)
(a trash bin tastelessly placed blocks view of a great old tree)
(the room’s a mess only as one fears an intruder
phone need not be lifted doorbell unanswered sweet music)
BUT
There are cats in the room
Breathing pulse on a terrible complex geometry
warping table tops and bottoms legs and arms
interrupting lines and joints
(how a cat will perpetually lick itself clean self companion
with filthy tongue)
A fat black Persian’s asleep (without eyes) by the patio door
Then a snow white cat in folds a rumpled pink blanket undulating on the floor
And
A seal point
With restless perfect beauty
With razor sharp flanks as though clipped each day by elfin barber
After petting she’s twitching around growling
Astrut in leaps and bounds
The intrusion is precious but devastating
Day after day there is a poet watching himself compose
mind standing off looking at some stale image of mind
neither hot nor cold but blowing
And I return and return
Sit down my hour to write each day
Watching the white cat on her pink blanket
How the light does play
...............................................................................................
This in answer to Carolyn Devonshire's challenge. I also just read a very fine poem about
being obsessed with a room, by Andrea Dietrich. Thanks Carolyn for your faith in me. BIG
LOVE, daver
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