In two days, Daniel and I will be “catnapping” his parents’ rescue cat, Penny. She will live with us for a week. We will see how I cope with her around the house, since I developed an allergy to cats earlier this year. I love cats, but I think it’s unfortunate that dogs are not allowed in our apartment complex. (We’re thinking of getting a golden retriever someday.)
Today’s post features another poem by Billy Collins. (Yes, it’s him again!) I simply could not get enough of his works! He is so good at what he does—I just love, love, love him! The poem I chose for today was taken from his poetry anthology, Horoscopes for the Dead.
Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by Jane at Raincity Librarian!
Note: All photos are taken from the Internet.
When the news came in over the phone
that you did not have cancer, as they first thought,
I was in the kitchen trying to follow a recipe,
glancing from cookbook to stove,
shifting my glasses from my nose to my forehead and back,
a recipe, as it turned out, for ratatouille,
a complicated vegetable dish
which you or any other dog would turn up your nose at.
If you had been here, I imagine
you would have been curled up by the door
sleeping with your head resting on your tail.
And after I learned that you were not sick,
everything took on a different look
and appeared to be better than it usually is.
For example (and that’s the first and last time
I will ever use those words in a poem),
I decided I should grate some cheese,
not even knowing if it was right for ratatouille,
and the sight of the cheese grater
with its red handle lying in the drawer
with all the other utensils made me marvel
at how this thing was so perfectly able and ready
to grate cheese just as you with your long smile
and your brown and white coat
are perfectly designed to be the dog you perfectly are.