Blackest Cat
Poetry
As I parked my car one morning, light
just breaking over the horizon,
I saw a black cat step daintily out of a sewer drain.
What the creature was doing
there is a mystery, and one might make
some assumptions, but she was sleek,
well-groomed, muscular, eyes
alert and purposeful,
head held high and tail aloft with
careless royalty
only a cat can muster.
Though only I would ever guess
where she had spent her nocturnal hours, now
in the morning her black fur was blazing, like anti-fire
burning darkness through the long light,
a brilliant shadow in the thin sunshine. Like
a protagonist emerging from the haze of unseen
and forgotten places with
the halo of a long arc and now
resolution.
G. Carlson is a writer based in Indiana, currently working on a novel and poetry collection. When she is not writing or reading she enjoys urban farming.