On Little Cat's Feet - a poem by John B. Moss

On Little Cat's Feet

Sorry I am, that I'm
taking the line from an
erstwhile poet (T.S. Eliot) to use
as the subject of my own
little prose - but doesn't
it feel just like somebody's
not looking when you
go to the mirror ---

and find a stranger
watching you there, examining
and returning your stare? The same
yet 'different' somehow?

There is familiarity
in the passage of the day,
moment by moment;
each passing thought

prompts recollection
and remembrance of
similar moments,
similar thoughts,
each the same yet
such as that face in the mirror

all so very
strange and yet so familiar...

when the moment passes, as
each second must, we look

upon the passage abstractedly and
search the life we lead
expecting something big,

I mean really BIG, to jump out at us,
to take those seconds and give them meaning...

Slipping along
on little cat's feet, Silently

underpinning the
shining, the shadowy, garment of life,
event after life's event unfolds and we

imagine these events are
too far out of reach, beyond our control.

Watching the face
in the mirror, we can
see the past, perhaps
even the future... but
let it go for now -
you have better things to do.

John B. Moss
© 1995-

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