Black Cat Black/ A Poem that's not about Cats

 
The black cat burns a hole in the universe.
She reclines on a bed of marigolds
and surveys me with her agate eyes.
Scarlet poppies rise against the sky
behind her.

Her  blackness destroys her own volume
And drags me through the cat shape
into the negative

where green poppies
wave against an apricot sky
and the cat scorches her form,
a white hot brand,
      onto  a bed of purple marigolds.  

Jennifer M. Carrasco/ 11/28/08