Butterfly Cauldron

Emily in Italy

There's a cat in the ruins, she says.
Actually, there are three,
Two more than yesterday.
I've been feeding them too much, I know,
But I couldn't stand to see them starve.
I sit up in the bed, the blanket falling to my waist.
The air is cool, raising tiny mountains across my shoulders.
Next, you'll tell me you want to bring one home, I say.
I can't imagine how we'd get it past customs,
But I suppose we could try.
She laughs, falling back into the bed, pulling the blankets over us.
You'd do that for me, I know.
Where should we go today?
The Sybil's cave? The Mysteries' villa?
I thought we could wander Herculeneum today, summon visitors from our past lives.
Past lives? I'd rather live this one--but we'll go.
We'll walk through graveyards, tumble over our old bones,
So long as we can come home again
And I can hold you--and maybe
Find a way to smuggle a cat through customs.

Labels: poetry