Rosie cat climbs onto the boy’s lap
and snuggles in, her ample flank flexing
rhythmically while she tucks her head
under an arm, safe, warm and contented.
It does not matter that he is typing
on the laptop. She rises, turns,
re-establishes pillowing on his
tummy, and squeezes her eyes
together in silent pleasance.
Something about family and tribe
and campfire primition is adrift in
her innate gathering to the family.
She has given herself to us, or gathered
us as hers.
Either way, there is a complete
in her bodily grace that speaks
of ages and eons
of feline feminine self care.
That I could let myself sink so
completely into comfort, so
lasciviously into the stretch and
tawn of musculature is more
than my New England heart can
Yet, the sinuous naturalness
speaks to me, sings, of a sheer
joy to physical being. We’ve been
given this gift, after all, of a body.