The 7 Yr Old Housecat

     They run in with voices peeling 
     the paint off the walls--a loudness
     without barrier, a song without refrain.
     But Zeus, the housecat, seeks refuge
     in the dusty smell of old blankets, in
     the creaking of worn-out mattresses.

     He does not seek a junction. Does not seek 
     a reunion. He walks away and plants 
     himself outside of reach, outside youthful
     realm of childhood and infancy.
     It is the past avoiding the present.
     It is the denial of an end.

     The dollhouses, the toy cars, the cartoons
     flickering across a television screen.
     The crayons painting the horizon 
     purple, the three-legged dragon 
     posted on a refrigerator door. 
     All this--the high pitch of noise.

     Time--a cleaver wedged into vertebrae.
     No longer a kitten climbing peaks
     of kitchen appliances and cabinets. 
     A ball curled into itself.
     It is the past avoiding the present.
     It is the denial of the end.


     Radames Ortiz
 	

     
     *          *          *
        

     about the poem:

     "It was inspired by my seven-year-old cat, Zeus. One day, 
     I watched Zeus and his reactions towards the loud cries of my 
     nephews and nieces. I watched him scatter into the safe haven of 
     old blankets and dusty shoes. Anything, to keep the calm within, 
     to hide himself from old age. . .darkness."



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