SOMETHING ABOUT CATS
Her urges, like a rubber band, pull at her voice box,
and she rests on the satisfied platform
of play and sleep
When it comes to words
what does she think? Does
she use words?
How to think without words?
Does she think with sound?
What was I before words?
Is it touch, like taking one’s hand
along the wall, or one’s tail, and seeing
where the wall leads?
Maybe like a potter?
Is it sight?
Or smell?
Imagine smell, thinking in smell
making more of it than Proust’s
recollections of times past
Rather smell a hard-working
Swiss army knife
that widgets one
through days
~ Lady