rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

This Side Up

The kittens have had their evening frolic in the back yard, and soon will have moonlight again. Last night it was as though they had sensed my desire to have the yard back, as they made no appearance for several hours. I think their mom might have taken them on their first hunting trip, the moon being full and the sky clear. Today the food bowl still contained a considerable repast, and the water had barely been touched. The hunt must have been fruitful— or beastful, more accurately. I missed seeing them in the sleeping heap they've made on recent nights, but it was nice to be able to go out and enjoy the moonlight a few times myself without precipitating a kitty panic.

Today the new renters occupied the house next door. There was a large posse of helpers carting goods and furniture from an array of vehicles, and I'm still not sure which among the crowd will now be neighbors. I hope not the guy who kept breaking into off-key snatches of songs I didn't recognize. I hope not whoever owned the large brindle dog, or whoever owned the little yappy dog. I hope not the two whiny kids. If any of them, my yard will suddenly seem too small.

Black and white cat has gotten herself into the rafters of the garage again, and the door is closed. I'll have to be letting her out later. The night will be fairly mild again, and I'm sure she can find another place to sleep, outdoors. I might leave the garage door open a few inches at the bottom again as I did last night. If a rat comes in, she'd better take care of it for me.

June has turned quite pleasant since the rain. It ought to be staying mild for several more days, and the jasmine now being dense with blossoms the nights will be fragrant and alluring. If I'm allowed out by the felines, and if my mom sleeps well and doesn't need too much looking after, I'll be out watching the slow-shifting shadows of the trees as the moon passes. Quiet hours must be snatched from the rush of time.



Sunday Verse


June


by Gerald Stern


Since it is June already I could be back there
wearing a yellow hat to confuse the blue jay
or giving into the smells; and once the heat
lets up I could be shivering in a T-shirt,
wishing I had a wool sweater, remembering
the bricks in this room and how we hated plaster
yet how we painted them white and how advanced
we felt when we finally had a telephone;
and I could be picking phlox by pulling the low-lying
roots and stop to think if there could be pomp
enough with only a single four-pointed star;
and I could bend down again for the chicory
that sky and land conspired so much with it caught
the sun for a minute, and put it over my sink,
the way we brought something into the house
that we could cut the dead leaves from and water,
now that we had a well, now that the wind
was breaking down the door and one of the old
zinc pennies was standing on end and we could
find the key inside the crock, now we had light.

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