A woman stands
in a dark nightgown
on her red adobe terrace
in the San Miguel dusk
A storm hangs in the sky
She has opened her old fashioned
screen door -
wood, and screen
and some ancient springs
to snap it closed
there is no lock
or latch
or hasp
or hook
She has no reason to be quiet
but she is quiet
and the door is quiet
She wants to smell
the rainy air on her terrace
and see the green plants breathe
She looks
at the house in the photograph
at the colors - the black, the white,
the concrete gray,
the yellow,
against the storm clouds
She doesn't move
as suddenly a bright orange flame
of a cat
streaks through the air out of nowhere,
lands on the low level
of the house in the distance,
then leaps straight up
to the top.
The cat sits right on the corner,
head turned in silhouette
to the yellow wall.
The corner looks on fire
The little flame unmoving
and alive
The woman is stunned
by this grace
She backs into her small
house to get her camera.
She knows the cat won't be there
when she gets back...
by Tandy Martin
**************
Tandy Martin is a filmmaker, poet and musician, who spent much of her childhood in Europe as the daughter of a civilian in the US government. Later she lived in Los Angeles and had every job known to man. She eventually wrote and directed special effects documentaries for computer graphics studios.
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