Looking Out the Window by Jason Sweeney
Man-mother. Pride-father.
I don’t know which I love more–when he opens door to let me out or let me in.
Is that what love is?
I was let in long after the moon appeared last night; I slept beside him.
In the morning I tried to cast purspell of never-leave; he left, of course.
He always does.
I left too but he left farther than me, far up the steep gravelpath and past the waterspill pipe.
I will run to him when he returns, calling for him from the bushes.
This is our love–I love watching him go so I can watch him return.
Be let in.
Cast purspell each morning and fail.
Wildness is the failure.
I always fail adventurously; I chase moonshadows and windghosts over the neighbor’s blue tarp.
This is why I write you. To chase you in your window frame.
Her Two Cents
Could this be the best cat poem ever written and never seen by anyone outside of those reading the Pittsburgh missed connections? Fur-child, your purspell doesn’t fail, it’s what ensures your human comes home after their day of traveling.
