I really did write this yesterday, but I wasn’t quite happy with it enough to put it up. I tweaked it today, so here is a second draft:
TEACHING CAT
When I was young, my mother took night classes
at the local community college. In one building they had
a dead, dissected cat under glass, splayed flat on its back,
paws wide as if in surrender. Its now-brittle belly skin cut
and pulled back, rib cage cracked to teach humans
about its lungs, stomach, intestines, the dingy pinks
and browns dulled and yellowed by formaldehyde.
Its chin jutted upwards, hiding its eyes. I wanted to know
if it had ever been loved, if a warm hand
had ever passed over the white fur
or if it had ever been called to its dinner
by a name someone chose for it. But I hid
behind my mother’s legs, afraid to see
what was really inside, what was split wide open
and vulnerable.
Issa M. Lewis 