He stares out the window
for hours,
that little stray cat we’ve taken in.
Watchful and serene by the warmth
of the daylight,
contemplating the sun.
His belly has grown plump since that
bitter December day, his fur now white
and clean—
And though we know he loves us when
the winter nights grow cold,
I can’t blame him.
The windowsill littered with fur,
As every warm, lazy summer day,
From out in the backyard you see
two curious yellow eyes,
trying to remember the smell
of freedom.