(To my Cat)
by Lydia Popowich
Satin smooth, a dashing tuxedo doodles
in the dark. Coiling, recoiling, she sparks
twin moons centre stage, chartreuse chanteuse,
all that jazz with twinkles. Scrumptious svelte.
The rasp of velvet, the descent and scorch
of needle claw. Bipolar and molar, the healer
of bones. Her silent hum, vibrations thrill
- a mean chill pill. Stubborn as a willow
in the wind, she bends and does not break.
Not shades of grey but endless grace. Elastic,
fantastic, shape-shifting dreamer, she weaves
a fandango, a spellbinding tangle of chains.