My Cat’s Calling


Crouched,
Zoe sits like a deity.
In the glassy globes
of her unblinking stare,
an ocean unfolds.
Gold specks in netted rims
crown each iris.
My insights plunder like pirates
to raise Cleopatra and her jaded past.
Zoe tolerates my idol curiosity.
Couched above, she appears to have connections
to the ancient art of cat worship.
She may have sat in a pharaoh's palace
positioning her ears in the shape of their pyramids.
I am guided by the depth in her eyes
though they are locked in a far superior trance.
Zoe leaps from the sofa as if
to call time out .
I must rise to fill her dish.
Back to the everyday-
that is, until
my little goddess in black fur
marches in.

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