the cat who climbs the thorn tree.
I am dusty brown,
the color of ground I can never return to.
I have flocks of black spots,
dark as the birds I disturbed, all feathered ebony/blue.
There is nothing above me but pickers,
points and barbs and a solitary aerie,
but I climb because
I must be what I am--
the cat who climbs the thorn tree.
Know what you mean--I just wish someone would plant a pillow tree. I love the flocks of ebonyblue spots--they seem to make the journey worth it.
ReplyDeletethis one is my speed (and length)
ReplyDeleteI really like it, but feel a bit sad for my lonely friend climbing among the pricks...
Aloha from Waikiki, Friend
Comfort Spiral
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My cat would be the "Cat who bum rushes you for a belly rub".
ReplyDeletewe all must be what we are...
ReplyDeleteLOVE this!
♥
This must be held 'true'
ReplyDeletelovely expression mi amiga
The Thornbirds is going to be circulating through my brain today... pity the birds. You go KITTYCAT.
ReplyDelete"flocks of black spots" sings to me
ReplyDeleteWhat a curse to be someone who simply must climb (a hard enough task on its own) but has to fight against gravity with sharp pain in her feet---every mandatory step excruciating, murderously stabbing straight through the limbs and into the heart.
If she cannot return to the ground (even in death), she must be immortal ... an even greater curse. And in solitude, of course. How poetic. I love that the thorn tree could represent anything painful but inescapable---a task (like writing poetry), a job, a person, a behavior, an addiction. That is the beauty of loosely woven metaphor. It can be interpreted in any number of ways.
I love that the word "ascent" is so close to "accent." So, of course, I'm picturing this as a French cat who can speak "human." But there's no one around to hear her. :)
ReplyDelete"Flocks of black spots." I adore that.
ReplyDeleteI love the word 'ascent'. I see it climbing, going up up and up some more like a balloon floating away on a cool breeze. Excellent write, Shay. xo
ReplyDeleteHaunting. They are so vulnerable in this world today, so precious and rare too, all the wild ones...
ReplyDeletethis strikes me as a piece that jumped from the stockpot ready to be in the world. I must be what I must....see and those words I find my own self tripping over, and that is what makes me jealous of this poem, its voice, its own knowledge of what it is and what it must be. Am I to find similarities in that cat climbing the thorn tree, meh....I am probably more one to observe the thorns and make some clever remarks about how the thorn scars would look so pretty and unnatural on my soft paws.
ReplyDeleteStill, I thank you for posting this one. It's tightly written and not shy.