And it tells you what you do.
You sit right back and stare
Hazel eyes now yellow as fire,
With fur crawling down the spine,
Below the legs,
Above, Below.
And then you’re black and furred and all you can do is screech.
This is the cat song.
Lay down your golden hand by the marbled lamp.
Stretch it.
Now, gently my dear.
Now just a bit more.
Do it again.
Now lick.
Lick the places we cannot see.
Lick them hard,
Lick them deep,
For this is the cat song.
Cheryl Spinner currently lives in Durham, N.C., where she is a doctoral student in the English Department at Duke University. She received her Master's Degree in English at Georgetown University in the spring of 2010. A native of Queens, N.Y., her writing intertwines yiddishe kopf with a certain kind of New Yawk flair. You can follow her research blog at electricladieszap.wordpress.com.
