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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Off the Cuff / My Other Journal #810209 added March 15, 2014 at 7:41am
Restrictions: None
Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe…and Meow!
"We do not remember days, we remember moments."
Cesare Pavese
So many years of life, so many moments to remember. So, there it goes: Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, and meow...
My mother is seriously ill. The character that she is, she refuses to go to the hospital; therefore, she's at home, recuperating. The doctor stops by daily.
Suddenly, one day, the illness turns scary. My grandma and I think she's dying. We call the doctor. Grandma sends me downstairs to the kitchen to make tea. Since Mom won't take her medicine by mouth, it has to be dissolved in some kind of a hot liquid.
While I wait for the kettle's whistle, I sit at the kitchen table, holding my head in my hands. My tabby cat jumps on the table, something he never does as he's not allowed.
Without any fear of a scolding, he begins to lick my face, his meows like the coos of a pigeon. He is singing to me the song of the moment, the song of soothing, the song of solace that will weave in my memory's threads never to be forgotten, unlike any other moment lost in time. I let my hands caress the soft fur, tracing thoughts along the curve of the spine of his tiny body. My cat helps me make it over this dark ravine, in one continuous stream of his meows.
This moment in time stays pristine. This moment that created smiles out of dread is not wasted. This moment, vapor-like though it was, is used and reused in difficult times when one of my karmic tales suddenly pops up to challenge me.
What a cat my tabby was several decades ago; what a cat he still is in my memory!
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