eight days by AJ Morelli at All poetry

nine feral cats gathered at the fading

grey door of the neighbor's back porch
as had become their habit

but the woman did not appear

with milk and canned food

the cats paced, exchanged places
until one by one they left

for eight mornings they would return
to the now abandoned house

but on the ninth day
they did not

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sheltered
July 3
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An f'in masterpiece...
peruse reproved.

"at the fading" nice red herring

Habit almost sounds habitat

I don't know whether to feel more
sorry for
for the lady or the cats.

This just has so many meanings
that I will have to bookmark it
to make sure I didn't miss any.
Grunts Girl
May 29

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this reminds me of a personal time of pain in my life when I didnt want to face reality that someone was gone. Every day for 10 days, I sat in our spot wondering if he would return... sadly he could never return and I knew this, but had that glint of hope.
I found it interesting how you used the number 8 with cats having 9 lives... very subtle.
Zayra Yves
May 23

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I like the way this reads as a riddle or the beginning of a myth but is settled right in the reality of a cat, which only cat owners and lovers can understand as being myth that walks among us.
Redstormy
May 13
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I like this Al
Peteskid
May 10

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so many layers and contrasts here, numbers, lives, kindness, change... signs...i like this a lot...PK
mantis180
May 8

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You are a true artist, once again playing upon the imaginations and emotions of your readers, and telling a story without quite telling it, like a painting that misses the key piece... why do you taunt us so?

This is a beautiful piece, but it leaves me to wonder, where has the woman gone? And what will become of the cats now? Dont leave me hanging AJ, do they find someone else to feed them, does the woman return? What becomes of the Kitties?
ecrivain01
May 8

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Old ladies don't often ...
move, unless it's to a nursing home or a graveyard. It seems likely that that's what this is all about.

Anyway, you've done a remarkable job with this.
Balldinger
May 8

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9 lives and a tin can of food that went gone...
the numerology in this piece tallies up AJ. Stoner math at its finest - the crisp bits of jurisdiction leaps on the Naugahyde covering of life. Lisa's right - it's an odd poem that doesn't quite wanna spill all the beans - ah, sweet mystery of life... ~ EZB
ariosto
May 8

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They're t my house right now!

this is sad and austere
black and white photo material

good one
Jersene
May 8
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This is sad, poignant, and beautifully written.
Elora Danon
May 8

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At what point do we give up hope? An age old question pondered beautifully in this piece. Your work is always a joy to read Al & this one is no exception.

Becky~
Cvillelisa
May 8

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Odd little poem isn't it. Seems to want to say something but oh so quietly (except for the sound of the feral cats cry). Good example of showing not telling.

I'm wondering about the word "gone" at the end of L7.

Gone, particularly in this poem, seems to me to mean something different than what I think I am experiencing in that line.

Gone, to me means really gone but then the next line that follows talks about them returning.

I'm thinking you are trying to convey that they "left" one by one but returned, all nine of them, for the next seven days. Is this making any sense? LOL

Maybe think about the word left?

I like its unsaid sadness.

Lisa
- AJ Morelli
  May 8
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  thanks lisa, you may be right... i'm gonna try it your way and see how it feels
  
  al
jantastic
May 8

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There is a house behind ours that used to be "home" to countless feral cats, some had kittens in our garage one year. They have disppeared over the past couple of years and, just within the last few weeks, the now vacant house has been sold. Amazing how something can be so relatable.

But, aside from my personal reaction, numbers... I love numbers in poems. I've done it as well. Combined with your talent for word economy and capturing these things so succinctly, well done.
Suzanne Dia
May 8

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One of the things that strikes me about poetry that uses numbers... is the desire to know if there is any personal significance to those numbers, as when I use them there usually is

Sad story you paint here, though. Poor kitties, and poor lady. I'm sure she wouldn't want them to not be fed.

(barely awake and sneezing, sorry if this is lame.)
ardentMarch
May 8

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aww..this is so sad. I really feel a sense of loss in this poem for the woman. We don't know how we affect other people's 'lives'..(in this case the 'cats'..they possibly died without her feeding them) but I feel this is more about people, too..this is excellent
Rowan
May 8

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Wonderful Al, really.
I feed stray cats, so I can't help but feel a sense of foreboding. lol.
Such a lonely feel about this one.
Allyce May
May 8

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I find this particularly chilling and a great metaphorical piece; the cats, the lives, abandonment, the restlessness and dying.

So much going on here; great poetry Al
NurseChilly
May 8

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the year of the cat, Al Stewart - old song, great album, lives, loves and all that it comes around

this is one is quietly knocking on my heart Al..
Namita
May 8

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Oh yes- "the nine lives of cats"- simply marvellous... you're so clever and amazing, Al. "the fading grey door"- just love that. Outstanding piece!

- namita
Nicolette
May 8

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Eventually we all give up, don't we? This one made me think ... the nine lives of cats... Wonderful poetry, Al. Much more here than what meets the eye.

~ Nicolette