Cat Lives by Taylor Graham (Judith Ann Taylor)

The old cat weighs no more than
teeth, claws, and purr, the bones inside.

A cat is a cat: lap comfort, or
too much togetherness, Egyptian god,
mummy demanding my mind.

Tonight “I want to tell you something
with my hands,” I say. She turns
to lick her flank, her thigh, what’s left

of fur after thirteen years together.
I could tabulate each vertebra

down her spine. She still knows how
to purr, as long as hands
think of pain as a flit against the pane,

a bird that flies. Teeth and purr,
feathers of bird-wings in flight, bones
inside. In her next life, in mine.

From: https://www.persimmontree.org/articles/Issue19/articles/PoetryFromtheWesternStates.php

Date: 2011

By: Taylor Graham (Judith Ann Taylor) (1944- )