First Snow

     --for v.p.      
       
She may not have seen snow                
before, my feral cat, but sits            
still as a statue here                
with me on the stoop          
           
regal and unperturbed            
as the goddess Bastet                
in Egyptian mythology          
               
gazing out past  long dead                
stalks of weeds thrusting up          
through this blanket                
of white surrender.                
                 
First snow,                
while all about us stretch                
the shorn fields resting          
                
filled with the patience                
of nothing to do          
nothing to say          
                
no hungry mouths            
to feed in far off China                
nor in Gaza            
nor down the lane          
in derelict double-wides.        
                 
Now her imperious gaze                
moves slowly from left to right               
as if reading ancient glyphs        
i cannot see nor understand          
         
and turns to stare at me          
reading the tea leaves                
of my life           
           
as if she holds               
the Egyptian                  
Book of the Dead          
in the hieroglyphics of her heart          
                
and knows everything          
she needs to know          
                
about me            
about you                
about all of this.