glowering in the gnarled clutches of a malleetree she’s
bent, that cat
my mother tries to reason with her
only the dog ever responds to her logic
the dog and my father, four focused brown
eagerly uncomprehending eyes
the cat resists.
She veils herself behind a silt-heavy spiderweb not
one of us would broach
we discuss deserting her
my mother sobs, tired
hoping she’ll feel pity
(it’s late, it’s dark, the mosquitoes all gloat)
she feels contempt.
Fetch! they command me, the visiting child
the dog and I bound into ropes of corpse-flesh web
it clings like rolled rubber: we imagine many
armed spider hugs and fear
a beach-scrub Kali, slapping her hands across our eyes
our cat has eyes
like a goddess of destruction. She sits,
spite incarnate, in the backseat of the car
She and I, we dislike each other
intensely
all the way home