Poem – In Your Lap

In Your Lap

Old man,
When I first saw you,
I envisaged a large bird,
with sharp, playful eyes,
with gentle wings
under which you would take
proteges in the craft.

I used to be a bird,
I used to be the goose
that laid the golden eggs,
until i protested
to the jailor,
so, in a frenzy,
to keep me quiet,
he cut my throat.

But in doing that,
He cut the tether,
gave me wings,
to fly away to freedom,
along with my brood,
to become anew,
rising up from
a damaged woman,
blemished and scarred,
hopeful and shy,
burning out,
deeply into loneliness
and grief.

With time,
and renewed strength,
I became a cat,
a lovable cat
with spots and stripes,
a cat
who emerged when,
I jokingly, purringly
I may have to crawl
over your lap
to get to the door.

You asked,
if that was a promise.
A promise?
Oh yes!
Not only do i like
to sit next to you,
your warmth,
your comforting presence,
I would like
to curl up in your lap,
and purr softly
into you.

Like a cat,
I am curious,
I am cautious,
cautious of the fullish moon,
how it is approaching
and how it will make me want,
to kitten-claw my way
up a man’s torso,
to touch his heart,
to caress,
and kiss
the warm,
at his neck.

February 2007


About shewrite63

I am Theresa. I am a Mother and intermittent writer. I published a bittersweet novel under the pen name of Florence T Lyon. I am also a real life survivor, cynic and IT support worker trying to keep up with technological changes. Can't eke a living off of my writing skills - yet!
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