The Tree-Space

And Pliny did write me a poem. He presented it to me this morning, after the tree was cut down.

This is for you, he said.

I read it aloud:

THE TREE-SPACE

The heavens wept
(it rained)
George came with a chainsaw
And his brothers
Cut me off
From future blood-red flowers.
Where was I?
This is still my space.
I am the white open sky
I am the fence
I am the blackened leaves
I am the tap
I am the shed, the clothesline,
The neighbours' peach and fig
The rooflines of the houses
At night, I will be the moon.
I dream
I will sprout soon.

Oh Pliny! I said. That's lovely! And so modern, at least for you.

Thank you said Pliny, modestly. I tried to go against my instincts.

Lucky

I was at Li Feng's this morning. She was telling me about the cats that come to her kitchen door every morning and evening. There are four of them now. A white one, a black one, a yellow one and a gold one.

Three of the cats will eat anything she gives them. Rice or soup or vegetables. The fourth, the gold one, will only eat salmon and chicken breast fillet. He very fuss, she said.

This one sleeps on top of the shed at night. One night her husband went to the shed to get something and the cat tapped him on the head. This was because her husband had made a noise and woken up the cat, which wanted to sleep. The same thing had happened to her once, she said. It proved that this cat is clever.

It costs her fifty dollars a month to feed the cats. I wanted to know why she continued to feed them. Some people say a cat or dog come to your door is lucky, she said. Lucky cat, lucky dog, I don't know.

Your cats are lucky, I said.