This woman I adore
is a wood lily.
She stands tall and vibrant,
exuberant and regal,
blooms brilliantly
this time of year;
I’ve never seen
something more exquisite.

And I am a cat.
I call myself
the feminine divine feline,
or something like that.
I’ve got what they call
pussy power, you know?
I do things in the way
that pleases me.
One minute, I’m purring
in your lap,
and the next,
I’m stretched out
in a pool of sunlight.
And then,
Just when you’re dying
to hold me,
I demand to be left alone.
I want all of your attention
or none of it. On my terms.
Brooding and complex
a million identities
all wrapped into one
body poised
like an apex predator
or something like that,
but listen.

This woman I adore:
she and I are an unlikely pair.
But we stay far apart.
Wood lilies are toxic to cats.
Ingesting one petal
can result in acute kidney failure.
Cats rip the petals off of wood lilies
and wood lilies poison cats,
so I watch her stand from afar,
swathed in dayglow. She’s majestic.
I love her silently but meaningfully.
I watch her grow
where the grass is always greener,
bloom in the evening of summer.
She prays that I always
land on my feet.

We do not get coffee
or take long walks together.
We do not sing karaoke in bars
or play tennis in the sweltering heat,
but we live beneath the same sun
and cry beneath the same moon,
and I love her all the same.

This is the tragic love affair
of wood lilies and cats.

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