We’ve both settled for too long, she and I.
Even the memory of our wings is clipped.
When I shut the screen door between us, she weighs her chances.
She waits. Then she asks.
Today her question vibrates shrilly in every taut and tender membrane of my body, rousing the pain…and the hypocrisy police.
I open the screen.
She launches through before I master the demons and change my mind.
When she has been outside until ready to come in, anywhere she rests inside is a throne.
Her repose is regal; her eyes clear; her aura vibrant; her whiskers longer; and her coat shinier, even after all that rolling in the dust.
Her presence is saturated.
She owns herSelf, her body, the house (of course).
She owns history and now.
She takes up all her space.
When she is denied her full outing, she wanders distracted.
She cries, appealing to sympathetic frequencies in the doorkeeper.
Failing that, she tries eye contact: her gaze penetrating, reasoning with me, plucking all kinds of strings.
If ignored she walks the kitchen counter, where she knows she isn’t allowed. She naps restlessly. And then, resigned, she will go to her dish, for the surrogate gratification she is never denied.
I do the same thing. I turn to food to mute the wayward wilds.
When the native desires are thwarted, we make do, pass the time, confused, civilized and compromising, living a life not quite true.
And we eat… to cover the echoing well of undigested longing, to feed a world huddled, dissociated, around the hole in Wholeness.
(ALAMENTATION is a portmanteau of Aliment and Lament)
SFE, NM Sept 3, 2017