The cats of Rome sleep, feed, and breed
among the tumbled travertine, and slip,
tails high, across the flag draped avenues.
Ignoring pomp, alert to circumstance,
they cruise cafes for crumbs or prowl
the Pantheon.
Because the ages blaze and fade, the cats ignore the ranks of flags and fleets of long black cars. At the axis of the empire, they curl round Trajan’s column, indifferent to a fault, at home in a falling world.
For Felicia Mitchell
Nazim Hikmet Festival Chapbook, 2015
Reprinted with permission (“A Letter to Gretaâ€)
READ ANOTHER POEM BY EDISON JENNINGS: TIPPLE TOWN
