by Margaret Atwood
Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
...Read the rest here at the Poetry Foundation.
We've a snow day from school today - the first one this winter. I left the book I was going to review for poetry Friday at school so I went looking for snow poems. This one wasn't what I had in mind but it grabbed me anyway. My cat always wakes me up by breathing in my ear or chewing on the plants; things she knows annoy me. Her hunger is what gets me out of bed. Something about February requires an extra goading...
Friday Poetry round up is at Big A, little a today. Don't know how much poetry I'll be reading between putting snow suits on and off, but what fun we'll have!