Roof Top Dance

I did parkour for the first time when I was 62 years old because of Buddy. Buddy was my mother-in-law’s cat until she had to go to a nursing home. Although Jane couldn’t remember the names of her children, she knew enough to address my husband. “I’ll go to Serenity Manor if you take my cat.” That’s how Buddy came to us.

Buddy gradually trained us to do whatever he wanted us to do. Chicken instead of cat food? Sure. Get him a pet fish? Absolutely. Let him go on the roof deck. Of course, but only under supervision. And that’s how it started.

It is a dusky evening with purple clouds that threatened rain. Buddy saunters past me, out the door to the roof deck before I knew it. He trots over to the fence behind the planter. If he can slip through the fence he can go under our neighbor’s deck, a nice dark and narrow space. Perfect for a small predator. And nearly impossible for a human. Buddy is not allowed there. 

Trying not to alarm him, I squat down very slowly in order to capture him in my arms. I feel a frisson of pride that I can still squat all the way down at my age.  But by the time I have squatted, Buddy is slinking through the worn, wooden fence on the perimeter of my deck. He sniffs his way across my neighbor’s roof. I stand up. With difficulty and a lot of groaning. By the time I am erect, Buddy is marching across the next roof without a single look back. 

I gallantly hurdle over the fence and start hiking across my neighbors’ roofs too. It is now night with rain clouds darkening the sky. Have I mentioned Buddy is a black and white cat? Great camouflage. I pull out my cell phone and sweep light across the roofs as I call Buddy’s name. 

Buddy makes it to roof #5 and I’m now crawling across the slanted roof of house #3. I choose not to look down and hope the gutters will hold my weight if I start sliding.  Buddy is ahead of me. There is a gap of two yards between roofs 5 and 6. Buddy briefly hesitates. I watch helplessly as he launches himself off roof 5 to roof 6. I scramble to 5 as fast as I can manage. I stare down. Below the 3-story house is solid concrete. I decide I shouldn’t have looked down. But Buddy needs rescuing. He was declawed by a previous owner, has 3 teeth, and is utterly fearless around other animals. I jump up and down in place to practice. I eye the gap again. I back up, take a deep breath, and run like an angry bull is chasing me and launch. I land screaming in terror which is certainly no way to catch a cat. Buddy has made it to roof 10. It is the house at the end of the block and has a stalwart oak tree reaching into the power lines. Buddy sniffs the tree. It must smell like squirrels because he starts climbing down. 

I run over to the last roof. I gaze down. I decide I shouldn’t have looked down. It starts raining. I gingerly test the nearest branch to see if it would hold my considerably greater weight. The branch shakes when I grab it with both hands and lean. I put one foot on it and swing my other leg around a nearby branch. I got this. Then I glance down and freeze. I don’t want to move. I consider calling the fire station. To rescue me and Buddy. 

I watch Buddy nimbly jump to the ground. He turns the corner and I can’t see where he is going next. That gets me moving again. After all, I have to rescue my cat. How would he ever get along without me? He might run into a mean dog. Or an even nastier rat. He might even be dive bombed by a vicious pigeon. 

I get to the bottommost branch, hang from my arms, and drop to the ground. I turn the corner and search frantically  as I run up the street. Could he be under a car? Is Buddy in one of the empty recycling bins? Finally I see him at the top of the street. A young woman is kneeling down to pet him. As I approach I hear purring like a buzz saw. 

I greet the woman and explain that he is my runaway cat. She picks him up to hand him to me. Buddy appears relaxed and perfectly docile. Looks can be deceiving.

Fence

My cat probes

the weakness of the fence.

There was a time

when its wooden slates

fell and splintered.

Now the fence had gaps 

like an old man’s teeth.

With hammer and nails

and rudimentary carpenter skill,

I nailed in slates

and closed several holes 

with a wooden trellis.

There are still a few

small holes;

my neighbor’s garden 

has breeched the bottom.

My cat peers through those cracks

to next door’s yard,

musing 

if they have extra 

crickets

to hunt.

Nonne’s Tale

Summer heat,

City pavement,

I wear my favorite blue dress

down Madison Av.

I’m 89 years old,

quick witted

but my limbs are slower

than they once were.

The man 

snatches my purse,

sprints down the street.

I take off after him

running and shouting,

“Stop thief!”

I don’t know

what

I would have done

if I had caught him.

Web

Web of deceit where
spider waits to ambush,
pounces on a fly,
wraps silk around
so carefully
like a ladies’ dressmaker.
The insect briefly struggles,
goes ominously limp.
Unless you’re the spider,
then dinner is waiting,
a fly smoothie.

In the morning
dew drops
decorate the web strands
reflecting an
upside down world.

Rocs, manticores, and spiders,
magical predators
all dream
of blood.

Photo taken at Jack’s land, Catskills, 2019.

Griffin

Griffin
stands proud guard
gazes over lush land and
glittering city
She squints with stern eyes
into gleaming sun
as it descends into crimson clouds.
She sharpens beak
on gnarled oak
sniffs the scent on the air
claws tucked away
as assassins hide daggers.
Griffin
watches for evil
creeping across the valley,
She wrenches from earth
a black mist of madness
and tosses the demon high in the twilight sky,
tears that fiend into pieces with beak and claws,
devours each segment with relish.
Now sated,
she flies back to her perch
stretches incandescent wings and
watches,
protecting us
through the moonlit night.

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My Children

My lovely children,

gangly,

they hum or sing

but do not talk.

They reach out

to grab forcefully

and will scrape their fingernails

down my arm if I let them,

leaving red hieroglyphs

of their inner life

and sorrows.

 

I hold them closely,

squeeze shoulders,

and direct with my hips.

We walk together

down the school hallway

arm in arm

like guiding the blind,

though which one of us is blind

I am not sure.

Certainly, they don’t see their way into our world

and I can only glimpse into theirs.

 

We will sing

and taste the world,

look for confirmation

or challenge.

I will proffer words,

holding them out

like Theseus’ rope

guiding them

to the love of others.

For love is communication

and words travel through air

to vibrate and tickle

another person’s ears.

We will seek each other

through fingertips

and song

and sometimes even

a picture or two

or a collection of distinct sound waves

moving between us.

 

City Sestina

Dawn lays golden light across rooftops in the city
The cool air brushes cobalt sky
The almost empty streets
Today have hardly any wrapped up sleeping people
A few bees whir to break the quiet
at the placid harbor.

Ferries plow the harbor
in the stirring city
footsteps and chatter break the quiet
brilliant sun scales the turquoise sky
people
clutter the streets

safe from the streets
mothers show their young children floating ducks in the harbor
construction workers sit on T-beams and eat lunch. other people
swamp the coffee shops and benches munching the noonday break in the city
cumulous clouds decorate the sky
cars honk, trucks rumble and there is no quiet

school children are bursting with noise, certainly not quiet
as they energize the streets
look at the royal blue sky
wander to the welcoming harbor
scatter over the city
mingling with friends and anonymous people

weary people
plod homeward in quiet
city
streets
ships come into harbor
rose and tangerine light in the sky

lampposts obscure stars in the sky
bands playing in clubs filled with people
ships moored in the harbor
artists work in contemplative quiet
laughing young people strut in streets
colored lights shine from buildings in our city

Moon reflected on harbor water from ebony sky
city people asleep in their beds
quiet streets

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