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| Sometimes you meet someone
This morning I found our cat blissfully curled up in the washing basket. A sleeping paw over her head, two white back paws completing the circle. A cat is its own bed, own house, party, religion, movement, union. A cat is a perfectly incomprehensible word of fur. People are not like this. People are road signs on the bottom of an ocean dreamed in words. People are empty. People are “For Sale”. People are dead-end streets. People take what they can take. People flitter like moths around a long ago moon. They can’t help themselves. Cats come and live in people only when they’re tired, thirsty or hungry. People have been wondering for centuries about cats. House cats eat their people only when they are already dead. Sometimes you meet someone who is just like a cat. You find the meaning of your life in the sound of her name. You chase her perfume hand-over-foot but when you find her her eyes change your hands into silent prayers your tongue into sand. She disappears like darkness in the night. All that remains is the outline of an emptiness – a ring of smoke brown marbling on a piece of white paper wedding ring in your drawer. |