by Kristie Humphrey

She lolls across a towel,

still warm from the dryer

such peace the soft inspires.

Black and bronze,

her foot leans out to stretch,

one eye opens to peek.

 

 

A foe, no friend, slinks in,

to see where she is now.

Then tiptoes, sidles, ghosts,

and plans to steal the towel.

 

 

Vexations, gnawing pests

within my mind, are chased away.

 

In this present moment,

we each have all we need;

the weight, carried away by laughter,

 

coverts to marigold–

 

this fleeting life

this Feline foe

draws closer,

poised, a pair of green globes fixed,

muscle jitter, whiskers growl—

 

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    Born and raised in Oklahoma, Kristie Humphrey studies creative writing at Oklahoma State University, majoring in English.  She lives comfortably on her rural property with her six children, four cats, fish, and a sweet, but unimaginatively named, dog, Tiny.