My Little Messenger

Joe Rosenblatt
From:   The Voluptuous Gardener. Vancouver, BC: Beach Holme Press, 1996.

My little messenger has a happy face
as he moves on his snowy slippers.
Smitten by a cold nocturnal light
I see my cat turn to stare up at a stranger
who he knows isn't just another frightened mouse.

Felix desires to devour that noiseless moon
and he won't have him taken by any poacher
straying into his zone of feline influence
or by any other clever creeping devil
who, guided by their opalescent eyes,
glide through a summer's evening.

In terror, we freeze like voles beneath a hedge
while they invade our cathedrals of fog.

Alfredo, I think my well is filling up with cats

              ( for my translator, Alfredo Rizzardi)

What do they really think of us when they recline
on beds, tables, sofas , or perch on windowsills?
Or are they poseurs who believe they're really cats?
I think we dream when we think they're dreaming.

Alfredo, it seems my well is filling up with cats
everywhere there are cats! cats ! cats! cats!
Damn it, I need a drink — the human race is a disgrace!

Pass the grappa, Lady Muse, come fill my cup up with cat
Oh, I'm so damned tired of that common crowd
who've no true whiskers, — or crafty reptile mind.

But yes, I make exceptions, now and then—
for dreamy women who become honourary cats.

Poem 1 | Poem 2 | Poem 3 | Poem 4 | Poem 5 | Poem 6

Joe Rosenblatt's works copyright © to the author.