As so often happens
the day after I return home
from vacation, I am dogged
everywhere by cats, who have,
despite excellent care,
missed me.

After a quick trip to the urban
farm to pick up produce, I
return to two tails and eight paws
circling me in the kitchen as if I
have returned with fresh fish.

But no, Poki and Diego seem
content to settle and watch me
tuck English peas and green beans,
creamy-bulbed sweet leeks
and fuzzy apricots into the fridge.

I tip the basket of cherries into
a bowl, pop one into my mouth
as an idea springs. The lavender
violets in their perky pot by the
window and crimson cherries
in their bowl would look nicely
paired on the weathered wood
of the deck, an image that might
lead to a poem.

I pick them up, head outside,
Diego follows, and—after a bit
of positioning and only one
shot—inserts himself for a pat.
I deliver a scritch atop his skull
ridge and under chin, attempt
a return to the cherries, admire
the violets, picture-perfect in
this moment,

and again, a big orange cat head
eases into the frame, sniffing,
looking up, wandering through.
I try to move the extra element
out of the way, trying to document
what has grown, what is growing,
what is living,

forgetting that he is, too, this
goofy doofus of a feline who
has missed me, who settles near
me in the office when I come in
to write, one who desires only
the essence of me to settle his
big guy self just behind my chair,
his eyes falling shut into a nice
little nap.

•••

Thanks to Soil Born Farms urban agriculture and education project in Rancho Cordova for their good work and yummy produce.