Is it February?


    Today, while driving, I forgot on which
    road and in which direction I was traveling.
    Right then, the month and year evaporated
    from my mind. In passing bougainvilleas
    near the freeway, I found myself begging
    them for direction; and so I made my way home.

    You turn on the water and hum over the dishes.
    The kettle lets out it's half-whistle, and then
    you walk into the living room with a magazine
    and a cup of tea. As I reach for my crochet
    hook and thread, our tabby takes up her position
    on the arm of my chair.

    As I set the rocker in motion, two legs dangle
    like furry pendulums: back and forth, back
    and forth-- Her eyes stare ahead; occasionally
    she purrs. I wonder how knowledgeable she is;
    does she know this is February? I can't
    be certain of anything--but your presence.