Yes, daughter, I let the cat out again.
It’s late summer and the world is
steaming with sunshine,
streaming with cloud and blossom
and voluptuous voles.
He is not wise but filled with the beastly miracle of himself,
filled with the urge to be out,
to make his foolish way.
(You know how he comes back after
two minutes or two days, stands at the threshold,
leans in, steps back, leans in,
then turns and bolts away?)
Yes, daughter, I know there are dangers
out there—sly foxes, cars that run so
silently we don’t hear them coming,
other cats who are not kind.
But I have no right to keep him in, happy
as he is in his carpeted climber, curled
in any of his many cozy corners, thrilled
as he is by his kibble.
He knows his instincts.
Disaster may await. Yes, daughter,
there might be sadness.
I slide the door open, and trust.
©Heidi Mordhorst 2016
I can only imagine what it will be like next year, when daughter is 18...
Our Poetry Friday round-up is with Julieann at To Read To Write To Be, where her small commitment to GO AHEAD with poetry in the first days of school has inspired me!