Lisa Jarnot

THERE ARE CATS EVERYWHERE THEN

There is this bristling in the
sunlight in the window
there is this key and
this memory where it stands
there is something about time
and fur and action
there are abstract shapes
and there is philosphy
there are things I never understand
being, music, fascinating words there is some place
inside of this monstrosity
that breathes the single fact of me,
like a cat, and there are cats,
who are not like me,
but are themselves,
shell-like, in bundles,
and shaped like furry sheaves.