Again,
A mother looks up,
At me, through-down,
A tattered screen door.
This brood includes
Blackie, like her mom,
White-face, tabby-runed
And Beige-face, a tiny wildcat,
Spotted and black-ear-tufted,
Like a lynx, quick to hiss and spit.
They play about her feet, gentled, these
Neighbor felines, on my back patio world.
Oh, sure, my six cats lost the use of the backyard,
Cleo’s a ferocious kitten-protector, but it’s only been a
Few weeks, and, too-soon the babies will be gone. Off to
Their own devices, worlds and fates. Without Mom. Without Me.

I call to them, when I’m in the kitchen,
Through the back-tattered door, go out to
Check on them; tell them how sweet and pretty
They are, tell them I know, soon-again, they’ll be gone
From my eyes. Blackie perks fuzzed-fat ears up, then
Pretty-paws to the door, where, she looks up at me, trustingly.
“I get it!” I ache. I am humbled and proud and mamma-ing, as I see
In her tiny eyes, she feels safe. So does Cleo, she’s been bringing her kittens
Over here for years. There is no reasoning with her when She decides
What she wants! It’s a small price to pay back into Life, like a matter of time,
Birth-tattered and taut, reinventing, like a kitten aging, soon to be gone.

The babies will leave too quickly, a week or so, Mama-Mia! Kitty will go
next door to home. The back patio will be empty, and/but memory-filled, soon-again.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen 
© Copyright 5/11/08