My friend Mary Adams is such a good poet that words fail me. But they never seem to fail her. This poem opens a box not only of kittens but of life, mortality, solace. Reading a poem is not like letting yourself drift off into dreamland. It guides you into life's time, and that can be---well, all sorts of wonderful, disturbing, weird, and amazing evocations of mystery. And I don't even like cats! I'm allergic to them.
For this poem, I might suggest a cup of Cardamon Cinnamon Herb tea. Or Lemon Wintergreen. Any other suggestions?

TIME CATS
-- after Mr. Lloyd Alexander, 1924-2007

To console you for growing old, I got you a gift
to take you out of time. Not poems, which are always
ending after they start. And not knitting,
which if worn you might wear out. The best
gifts are light, but not too light, and flow
everywhere, like the ache of debt. This year
your gift should signify the infinite.
So I got you kittens, tricked by your own fingers
from the wild. Because they compound eternally,
but warmer. Because a single box contains
all kittens till it’s opened. Because a kitten
mewing makes a butterfly make a tornado.
Because a knotting of kittens extends in a plane
forever. Because a dying kitten is
impossibly light, and a lost kitten’s cry
is bottomless. And since each kitten wells
with the cat of danger, we know every cat
wears kittens like an urge. None is ever
really lost. Then cats point both ways always.
Now you are grown, here are all your kittens,
new again, like money you found in the laundry.
Heft them gently. Feel in their small hearts
your trembling. Calm them in the morning
of your fears. When you are sad, speak
them like cadences, kitten of cross-fire,
kitten of backflip, kitten of glory, kitten of
clutching, kitten of pestering and plummet, spindly
kitten, hungry kitten, kitten of solace.

--Mary Adams---maryadams.net
(Mary Adams' first book, Epistles from the Planet Photosynthesis, was published by U. Presses of Florida. )