Poem for November 15

Afternoon in the House It's quiet here. The cats sprawl, each in a favored place. The geranium leans this way to see if I'm writing about her: head all petals, brown stalks, and those green fans. so you see, I am writing about you.

I turn on the radio. Wrong. Let's not have any noise in this room, except the sound of a voice reading a poem. The cats request The Meadow Mouse, by Theodore Roethke.

The house settles down on its haunches for a doze. I know you are with me, plants, and cats - and even so, I'm frightened sitting in the middle of perfect possibility.

By Jane Kenyon late of Wilmot NH