Cat in the City

How long will it take
for a cat to grow
inside the city of my mind?

No matter
where the cat hides herself
she is always visible.
In the city
horns blare in her ears
dust clogs her nostrils
she gets the same food every day.

She hears
the same slogans
the same anxieties about equality.
She sees
repeating templates of resistance
tired waterfalls during leisure time
boats and popcorn.

As she crosses a road
towards the zoo
a zebra stretches its hoof,
waves its tail.
When a car reverses nearby
she hears a squirrel squeaking repeatedly.
A tanker lorry bellows in the distance.
In the dark
a wild horse bumps into her—
the squeal of horseshoes!

Somewhere
a roar collides with the night.

The cat in the city of my mind
grows bigger and bigger
its tail longer and longer,
teeth and nails
glinting sharper and sharper
tongue tasting every bit of flesh and bone
her form racing ahead along every road
conquering every roof
as a chill presence in the blistering heat
a warm touch in the biting cold
like unheard footsteps
a trembling whisker
a visitor only in the
dreams of a language unknown
effortlessly changing forms through the shadows
and terrifying my entire city.

Two pointed ears
of an unborn feline
haunt me these days;
nibbling at my pain
she grows rapidly, day by day.
Stretching her claws
over the walls of my heart
eight nails sink in.

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