Poems

James Ackhurst: ‘My Cat’

My Cat

There’s someone who reminds me of my cat.
Her silence has more meanings than my speech.
I know she’s thinking but I don’t know what.

The way she walks as if the waves licked at
Her paws, then spreads her warmth out like a beach:
There’s something that reminds me of my cat.

And though I know no love as intimate,
Togetherness means one solitude each—
I know she’s thinking but I don’t know what.

Her wounds are tended in a public act.
For all her scrapes she will not skulk or leech—
That’s something that reminds me of my cat.

Her lion’s poise—and a few scars—show that
She sometimes learns, though she prefers to teach.
I know she’s thinking but I don’t know what.

And sometimes when I stretch my hand to pat,
My cat will somehow stray just out of reach.
And you, my dear, remind me of my cat.
I know you’re thinking, but I don’t know what.

James Ackhurst

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