Kuk-ook in the Kitchen Doorway

Standing framed at this old kitchen door
I watch through the screen
as another tropical Virginia rain
washes away the sins and violence
of a restless sleep.

Standing framed at this old kitchen door
in morning light,
bare feet on dirty linoleum,
little cat in my arms,
his little nose in the wild wind.
Ghosts of past loves
whip past and dissappear
around the side of the house.
They, one by one,
who crossed this threshold many times,
are now thick memories
carried on air by Spring storms.

For so many moons I waited, baited,
as they one by one came tapping
at this kitchen door.
I let them in,
still learning,
still wanting
that bitter taste of not enough.

And now this new one-
who dares to cross the threshold,
giving freely with an open face.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM
He comes in with shining eyes.
He smiles and wraps his arms fully around me.
He is not afraid.
He thinks I am thawing out.

I dont know this good love.
It is a foreign object lodged in my throat.
Go away, I will say.
Shut down,
don’t let him in!

I will try to make him give up.
I will test his strength
and taste his misery. Hay-hayah.

I will make them all pay
slay them,
devour them at the door,
and declare my dancing black heart
the triumphant winner after all.
Kuk-ook the bad girl. Hay-hayah.

Really, cats are the best companions. Hay-hayah.

Yes,
it stings too much
to say goodbye to that old familiar ache.
It has my name on it, it’s mine,
my special darkness.
It has sustained a long haunting.
If i let go of this
i’ll lose the bittersweet memories
of my father, his sad smile, soft dry chuckle.
Hay-hayah.

Standing framed at this kitchen door,
evening light,
little cat in my arms.
Hay-hayah.

We lick our wounds and look up
at the sweetgum trees,
wondering how many young luna moths
are sleeping there.
Hay-hayah.

When they wake up and shake snow crystals from their pale green wings will they know love?

Poem by Merenda Cecelia 8-19

Art by Peter Sugarman

*Kuk-ook is a character in a traditional Eskimo poem found in Talking to the Sun, a compilation of poems my mother read to me as a child.

*The line dancing black heart is inspired by a beautiful line in Mary Oliver’s After Reading Lucretius I Go to the Pond.