THE CAT WOMAN JOSIE of the Durango Quanset Huts, '81

(sort of a rambling story, every bit of it true;

intended after Em'ly Dickenson, who never rambled – but I do)

As I approached my ex-wife's hut

(For separate we were)

I chanced to meet the cat woman

– No, she hadn't any fur.

Her hair disheveled, nose drawn out –

She looked the "gypsy hag" –

I knew the children taunted her

And neighbors' tongues would wag.

A paranoic case this one –

'Twas obvious to see

She smelled – lived 'mongst a dozen cats –

And rambled, quite lonely.

So I befriended her that day,

We took her out to eat.

And later on inside the hut

I had her stay for tea.

The two of us and no one else –

(The kids were off at school –

The little one was with her mum.)

She spokeof ghostly ghouls

Who spied upon her day and night,

Left her with naught to think –

'Mid curses thrown from kitchenware,

From oven, stove and sink.

They're cursed! She wailed and rambled on

In circular degrees,

Of untrue cousins, brothers, friends –

Of voices and decrees.

A schizo! Was all I could think,

A hopeless one at that –

What could my Space provide in words

To Josie and her cats?

From her the name of Jesus! and Lord!

Kept coming up anon,

So I responded right away

The second she slowed down.

Look Josie – when the demons shout

And you are but their game –

Don't let them prey – resort to prayer

And loudly praise the Name!

She got it for a second there –

Her glimpse a moment clear –

And then she cranked right up again

– She really couldn't hear.

So to her hut I walked with her –

'Twas locked, she kept no key.

I helped her through the side window –

'Twas her reasoning, you see.

I went back to the front doorstep

To check what'd caught my eye:

A mud-bespattered Bible there –

Full open it did lie!

No further did I need to look,

I knew what it would say:

I lifted it and let the phrase

Choose me in its own way.

And there confirmed by Psalmist's hand,

It said, "When trouble's near

And trembling sets upon my bones,

My mind beset wtih fear,

I call upon teh Lord's dear Name

And once again am cheered."

I laughed aside and shook my head –

The irony was clear:

We all crawl though our side windows

Shaking our butts in the air –

When simply on our doorstep sits

The answer, opened there.

Rumi for a Tomcat

O Friend, I'd thought I had loved.

But you have shown me I had not been there.

You placed your old massive white paw on my chest at dawn,

and entered gently anew my heart.

I had not known what a cat means

until you came into my life.

Now my hand carresses your head and back,

you purr full of trust, gentle Jimmy, Jimal-uddin.

Come let us depart for the Garden of the Kitchen,

there to be fed your morning portion.

Let us arise and go there, o my Friend,

that I may afterward again feel you

settling your satisfied weight on my legs

where I lie, thinking of verses

for my cherished old boy.

I Meet Her Gaze

Wednesday morning,
the March snow from yesterday
is melting, I have off.
It is well past 5 a.m.,
I do not have early shift,
no bus no car no leaving.
I have not fed the "kids",
yet they are at peace;
the tomcat snores over my left ankle,
looks up, I meet his gaze,
he snuggles in and sleeps.
The cautious temple-kitty sits on the floor
to my right and gazes up at me,
I meet her gaze and make room for her,
she springs to my right thigh,
stretches long and snuggles close.
On my left, my beloved turns toward me
and holds me to her,
I lay on my back, receiving, receiving.
I have not risen to make Puja.
Finances are a shambles,
who is left that I do not owe -
the wolves are at my neck,
we own little, undertake nothing,
what shall we make for breakfast.
Yesterday I share with her Trungpa's statement:
that "the bad news is that we are
in free-fall, with nothing to hold on to, and no parachute;
the good news being, that there is no ground."
She finds this discomfiting,
I explain that it speaks to the impermanence
of anything, of everything.
That we are idiots – and precious, divine, and in God's hands.
That in the bardos we perceive this more distinctly than now -
although the "after-death" is simultaneously moving
in every moment of our life; the bardos are now and with us.
She gazes at me and says: that one thing is permanent, her love for me.
I meet her gaze. Nodding.
It is now 8 a.m., my heart soars like a hawk.
It is a good day to die.
And to be reborn.
I rise to feed the "kids".