When the keys drop
out of my hands,
I imagine
a ghost cat
jumped into my palms
and knocked them
onto the floor.
I feel the feline spirits
of my childhood
pounce upon my legs
in the middle of the night
until my nerves and muscles
spasm as their wraith claws
sink in.
As the morning hours
tick away and my eyes
don’t remember dreams,
I hear them purr
and rumble
to encourage me
fall asleep into the white noise.
Sadness settles on me
and I hear them yowl
for me to pay attention
to the shifting branches.
They show me how to climb
and bat off leaves
until I forget the slump of the ground.
My little ghost cats
trip me as I walk up the stairs
and tell me
that isn’t my balance
but their tails making me tumble
over my feet.
Poetic Trials 