Darts
Here and there in the garden,
Pawing the twilight.
She's marmalade in daytime; now she's
Nothing-coloured, shadow-camouflaged.
All you hear is the
Lilac coppice rustle and she's
There beside you, huntress, mouse-killer—
Now merely sniffing at a leaf.
India's nose makes colours out of the
All-consuming grey;
Her radar ears scan,
Revolving, then
Stop and point – and she leaps!
Crashing through the lilac,
Past the ash tree, up the path and
Spins on a sixpence!
India's heart
Still contains a little kitten,
Daintily whirls and pounces after moths,
Always misses. And she still has
That kittenish insecurity.
Later, if you make her feel loved,
She'll keep your thighs warm, sprawling there so long
She sends your feet to sleep.
You won't have the heart to disturb her.
And you'll realise she's old:
A grand old lady, and hungry
For all sorts of things.
Like her name, the starving millions
(Fat cat, but how she
Hovers round the fridge,
Hoping you'll open up to a view of Nirvana,
All Whiskas and Kit-e-kat).
India!
Like her name, also an ancient wisdom
(How she seeks after the truth, how she
Pounces!).
India!
India darts—
Gone into the dark,
Secret foliage.
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