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| Hiếu Trọng |
Elegy for an Abandoned Kitten
It is dark at the pavilion.
I hear you crying, plaintive, anger
Mixed with fear,
Calling for your mother who cannot find you,
Or is dead.
I follow the sound to a dark knot of grass,
And there shine the light:
A small orange kitten, hissing, spitting at
The alien glow.
They have tried to feed you,
But you do not eat solid food.
The tin can of food is untouched,
Fly-blown nearby.
When I turn off my light, your hisses become
A plaintive cry again,
As if you cannot decide if the darkness
Is safer,
And your mother can hear you as long as
You are in shadow.
I listen to you cry, hoarse, mewling,
And think about your short life,
Perhaps bathed by your mother’s tongue
Just a month ago.
As I drive home at 80 miles per hour
Through the mist halo of my rental car's low beams,
On Route 36,
I try to call my wife to tell her I am afraid:
I had drunk a few beers,
I am in an unfamiliar state
On an unfamiliar road, and drowsy—
Keep me awake.
Talk to me.
But I am lying.
I am thinking of you, and of the darkness,
And of the serpent
Coiled across the field, who can hear
Your plaintive calls,
And I am thinking of our cosmic darkness,
On 36, all around,
And my desperate need for my wife
To pick up the phone.
Enjoy other posts by Jason Ray Carney HERE.
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| Jason Ray Carney |
