number nine doesn’t live here
you rarely recall that night
you should have died
yet every time it surfaces
you completely understand
how kissing the world goodbye
is as simple as
landing on your feet
you imagine you were born
a feline with siamese blood
running through your veins
a cool cat who’s been
around the block six or seven
or eight times
but certainly not nine
crouched behind a waning moon
you patiently wait for hope to rise
above the horizon
feeding your mind with
enlightenment
giving you courage to carry on
yet another day
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
First stanza is a knockout – a poem on its own. Enjoyed your reading as well. —Chagall
Thanks so much, Carlos. Appreciate your stopping by and commenting.
“a feline with siamese blood”
I imagined someone whose shadow was more present than their body. Great job!
Yes, a wonderful interpretation – I love it. Thanks, Millie!
love this
So glad you do, Erika – thanks so much for visiting and commenting.
🙂