To My Cat Clementine By Way of Apology for Keeping Her Indoors

Golden eyes blink into green,
breathe leaves, breathe soil, breathe,
a reminder of touching earth
light, light, lightly before one pounce,
then another. Head bumps, nuzzles, bumps, nuzzles
an open window. More green waits, whispers
just beyond. A tattered screen, a vagrant moth,
puzzled cat, bewildered moth, both
flying, flying, wanting out.

Yours the world until betrayed
by a bobcat, beautiful in form
dangerous in intent, ambush-
while you were lazily
pursuing a cricket, the chain of life
violent red on a sun covered day,
a well placed shoe on the bobcat’s hide
sent it scurrying, later your wounds
splashed crimson on hallway walls.

Now you are a window ledge cat, growing
a belly, eating grass from plastic pots.
Paws touching only wooly
carpet, cotton mouse and our bellies rounded, too.
Trying to catch flashlight beams you fail,
like trying to catch sunlight, impossible.
Never mind, no fear now.
You will live long between wood and brick
if not upon the earth.