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The Cat Lover- prose poem example

 An example of a prose poem

 The Cat Lover

When a door opens and you can't see who's coming, it's almost always a 
cat who would like to be your lover. All cats are small, so the opening door looks 
like an accident. It's not an accident, though. These cats take great care until one 
paw hooks and the door swings open

When the door opens, the cat sits at a distance. This is the distance of 
masked balls, 18th-century calling cards--once known by humans, never 
forgotten by cats. You see its slanted eyes. You see its elegant face.  The cat stares 
at you in all its wildness and comes to rest upon your heart.

      Last night my cat lover woke me from a dream where I'd been looking for 
someone who wouldn't come to find me. This was someone I'd known years ago, 
and I was searching narrow streets of an unfamiliar city. When the cat woke me, 
I realized the entire family had gone to bed in chaos: My son was asleep in front 
of the television, my husband on the living room couch, my daughter in my son's 
room, and me in my study wearing all my clothes—soft velvet clothes, 
something I do when I hope there will be no night. It was three a.m. and there 
was a unplanned feeling to the house, as though all of us, in order to sleep, had 
entered different zones and the house itself hadn't been allowed t dream. The cat 
purred on my chest, but I shook him off and went downstairs to cover my son. 
Then I wandered to the kitchen and ate lemon ice that reminded me of a place in 
France where summers were so hot, ices dissolved as soon as they hit the street. I 
had to stay in the store to eat them. I never knew what they looked like. 
          While I ate, it occurred to me that nothing has skin--neither me, my 
children, nor my husband. Falling into his body was just something I did   over 
fourteen years ago because light bound us together like gold. I finished the ice 
and my cat lover visited again: The approach, the encounter, the looming, and 
then he rested against my body.  His fur and my soft velvet dress felt the same--
dark, pillowy textures, things  to love and dream in. I felt his small wild heart beat against my chest.

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Just posting this to show an example of a prose poem--in connection with my last two columns about prose fiction. More pictures at 11 :)