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Poetry


Fugue: Reading Poetry with the TV on While Petting a Cat

Sandi Leibowitz

Fur insists itself against skin
absorbing my right hand
while my left, bracing the book open, makes contact
with the smooth, resisting skin of page and

mind makes contact with the poet’s mind
enters the barmaid’s doomed life
visits the poet’s bed as he reaches for his wife
stands in the rain,
in prehistoric caves,
at universe’s unraveling

purr, yes there

while in the Bronx a man is stabbed
the BQE’s backed up

a strand of wheat is glazed by sleet
in a sonnet’s moment

a paw taps my lip, recommending breakfast
a poem about seeds germinates a new poem in me
meow
Macy’s is having a white sale

It seems as if this is one moment, three things
happening at once
but it is a braid of moments advancing
line to line
news to fluff
purr to meow

time tugs us forward
as every line of Bach’s Toccata in D reaches towards
fugue’s ending

Hoda and Kathy Lee match drinks to summer dresses
the cat raises his rump in pleasure
my hand turns the page