I was asleep, my
book open facedown over
my eyes as usual.
You had other plans,
butting the book with your flat
wet nose. It’s dark, 3
a.m. No birds sing.
No car lights flood the wall. I
throw the book into
the dark, you chase it
ecstatically. The dead
hour is all yours, cat.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Author: Tom D'Evelyn
Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.
View all posts by Tom D'Evelyn
No wonder the Egyptians loved them! You’ve got a good one!
LikeLike
That’s fun, and warm-hearted – at least at first. The closing sentence called me back to be read over again, and again. It could be spoken in a number of different tones of voice, with the mind drawn away to differing images. Another fine poem, Tom.
LikeLike