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Poetry Magnum Opus

Sappho the cat


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The wind rested on top of the branches of

a tree in the park, not blowing below them.
Sappho the cat followed the steady flow of
spirits leaving the earth, passing the flakes of
snow. The night searched for a cradle to lay
down it's body of dreams, Sappho rubbed her
head on Isaac's feet, as he opened his eyes
daylight poured out like light entering a cave,
he slept in the park and supplied black and
whit Sappho with her first meal of the day.
 
This was the tenth Christmas Isaac had been
homeless and spent this time of year living
on the park, the cat also appeared to be of
no fixed abode, but unusually would not harm
any of the birds that resided here, she would often
lay on Isaac's with her ear pressed against his
stomach, he had a dream that night about being
lost in the desert and asking a sphinx for directions.
Sappho watched as her friend built a snowman
before leaving the park to walk the streets where
he would see the fellow homeless sleeping in
doorways, the faces in the coffee shops were as
blank as that of winter, they did not see snow lit
boughs. Isaac had sat on winter's plough and it
wouldn't allow despair from the driver. Wine bars
and large houses and their hard stares never
bothered Isaac, a cat appeared in a window with
tinsel in it's mouth, someone had put a crucifix
on a snowman in the garden, it had a gold chain
and silver cross, this was incongruous to this homeless
man-the windows of the house cried tears of silver and gold.
this winter two tales had been told of those with and those
without.
 
Sappho was sleeping next to the snowman when Isaac arrived
back on the park that evening, he started to experience a strange
vision of a heart beating next to a crucifix, he the saw a heart
thumping through the bark of a tree. The cat had left three lots of
prints in the snow, Isaac had three dreams that night in synchronicity.
one dream about angels creating a sun thread by thread, black angels
breaking up the moon and one about a remote figure flicking his fingers
through different Universes.
 
Isaac knew he now contained a duality and the leaves on the trees were
like the souls of spirits who walked the earth until they were ready to leave,
he was a fruit tree ghosting through history seeking the correct climate to
plant his roots. Isaac started a fire, the snowman refused to melt, false
prophets had fallen right through history, two sets of green eyes could see
them in the flames. Clouds above were like prayers, Isaac took a few floating
them on the park, a robin flew through them, a singing wound passing through
time. The snowman's features altered imperceptibly to resemble those of it's
maker.
 
Sappho followed Isaac through empty streets in the early hours and watched him
build snowmen in different gardens, they too would alter gradually to resemble their
maker. Isaac started to experience a new emotion, his inner landscape was being
transformed. Their was a brief surge in altruism amongst the locals, donations to
food banks increased, the health of rough sleepers improved until the snow melted.
 
An echo of a planet falling from a fruit tree in some unknown place and the indifference
to closed eyes of a dreaming sphinx stitching links to unleash chaos alarmed Isaac, he
imagined the tree next to the snowman growing hands, some wore rings, others held
the pages of a book, he had to find fingerprints that matches his own, a candle fell from
the tree through loose fingers with an imprint, Isaac realized he was a candle containing
the indentation of a distant figure.
 
 
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Pretty good, Barry. Cats are weird, but Sappho takes the edge off this plight-of-the-homeless ditty, while Isaac gets drunk and high building and bonding with snowmen all day and night. It's idyllic! 

If I could check into a bughouse for a stint and have people (paid for by other, of course) tend to my mental health with talk and pharmaceuticals, I would connect with the cat. I would look into its eyes, it would look into mine, and we would come to an agreement on what our mutual sarcophagus should contain.

Thanks for the look within and without. I loved it.

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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  • 1 month later...
David W. Parsley

The concrete and the mystical repeatedly meet in uneasy detente for a pair of displaced souls.  Unlocks the gate to the Other side of the Christmas season.  Dickens would be distressed to see how much company we still keep with our half-forgotten children, Want and Ignorance.

Thanks,
- David

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