Curiosity the Cat Killed

Curiosity the Cat Killed

Not the early fall’s field mice,
snitching through tallow grass tall and crisping,

Not a sparrow or a swallow or a red-striped snake,
unwound and left limp on the doorstep,

No grasshopper that zipped into flight too slow,
or butterfly palpitating low to the ground,
swiped down and snuffed,

But dull starlight flicker with comet-dust tail—
a shooting star— snatched
by swift paws from twilight’s quilt.

Gone is the fire,
just a twinkling husk on the porch: smooth,
glass-cool dips and spines
twisting translucent around dead ember

Behind swooping switchgrass sits the cat,
cleaning wispy ash-gray fur
I wrap the star in newspaper
and bury it in the garden

Kaz Hatch grew up in Monmouth, Oregon and is currently a student at Western Oregon
University. A poet and visual artist, they also sing with the a cappella group, The West of Us.
“And while out walking,” the poet comments, “I tend to watch the birds instead of where I’m
going.”