Zen Masters
.
I look my cat in the eyes.
She looks back into mine.
It’s a mutual admiration.
.
I look at her feet, all four, individually.
I’ve read that cats would never let you
touch their pads and in between, tactile
and cushiony. Nice to prove the experts
wrong. I believed Adolf Huxley when he said,
“If you want to write keeps cats.” I think on
some counts he got that wrong; (more on
that later.)
.
One cat will do for me. One whose feet
fascinate me, the long hours she spends
on my knee. I caress each pad. She spreads
each claw, and as she feigns sleep I see in her,
delight. If her claws communicate sharp,
and grip in any way, it’s only to make clear
her ecstasy.
.
If I’m taking more notice of my writing desk
than her; (like now): she’ll let me know that too.
I look on her as she carefully, gradually scatters
my papers. And then she’ll walk across
the keyboard, nudge away the books
I’m piling on the printer.
.
Oh, yes, she looks me in the eye and smiles.
Smug, smug cat; perhaps she saw what I was
reading. Cat quotes, this one by Eckhart Tolle.
‘I have lived with several Zen Masters, all
of them cats.’
.
Benita H. Kape © 6.4.2017
Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that looks at the same thing from various points of view. The most famous poem of this type is probably Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”. You don’t need to have thirteen ways of looking at something – just a few will do!
benitakape 