The Blue Moon Review

Tuesday
by Brent Goodman

It's my cat who teaches me Zen,
asleep in her narrow space
behind the couch, while I sit

at my small table near the window
reading Lau Tzu.  New here, she still believes 
in absence, inhabiting dark corner 

and closet crawlspace, moving soundless
from room to room like a shadow of a bird
glimpsed peripherally.  It's no use

following with clunky flashlight, 
rattling handfuls of liver treats 
and kibble.  She won't come out. 

Just sit.  Wait.  Better yet, go to bed 
and don't try remembering your dreams.  
In the morning, after you refill 

her bowls with food and fresh water, 
notice the brass incense holder 
slightly tipped, the book you abandoned 

last night almost exactly where you left it--
splayed-open, a few black hairs 
flowing from the binding's dull edge.