I’m not bored
I’m just
Batting at baubles 
Hanging from the Christmas tree
Stretching and such
Playing coy
Biding my time 
That other cool cat comes back 

Only Ears

Two days ago

With talk of the glitter and gold that’s on sale

I wanted

Just this once wanted 

To speak about Santa

To plead his case, there in my tiny kitchen space

He’s real, you know

The jolly, the old, the sharing, the care

It being just November, such talk would widen eyes with the wrong wonder

Quite quickly, I ushered the imagined magic back into the attic

And sadly shuttered that door

He’s busy, they’re busy, lists of to who, to do, to should and to want 

None of it’s useful to me            


What if the mirror told
I was no longer there
Taken, stolen, gone, away
Would you think to care

Would you put up
‘Lost Cat’ flyers
On tall trees 
From here to there

Would you seek me 
For my marching
In your hair

If the warm winds took me
To pillows that allow
My sleepy and my crazy
Would you miss my meow

Tell whether you would fight the winds
For each of our nine lives
To bring me back, once and for all
And marry my green eyes