Steven Reese: Tongue Got Your Cat

                           Cat Walkers, by Mary Hatch, 1993, oil on canvas, 36” x 40”



Tongue Got Your Cat

Disappeared it behind a cute
name, snatched its leap out of midair
like a frog a fly, shushed its yowl
back to mew then scolded it mute.
Tongue got your here goes! with how dare?,
switched-out your dive-in for a towel
of soft lies to soak up the bleed.
Tongue got your high mind: talked it down.
Tongue got your secret, spilled its beans
and clucked at it. Tongue got your deed,
made it stand still, called it a noun
and said that’s all your doing means.
On it went. And the tongue grew fat
lapping up milk meant for the cat.

Steven Reese

Review by Spencer Smith
The beauty of poetry is that it’s possible to enjoy a good poem without being sure exactly what it means, and being okay with the possibility of multiple meanings. I enjoyed the almost hip-hop rhythms of the language, the looking at things backwards, the use of the multi-definitional word “tongue” in fun ways, and didn’t even realize it was a sonnet until the last two lines.

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