The Mind of God

by Karen Dresser

The Mind of God is a Siamese cat
that sits for hours, goddess on throne,
judging tangled messes of my life.
She stretches, yawns, sniffing out my frailties,
hissing until I worship her
on bended knee.

The Mind of God purrs loud
in my early-morning ear to wake me
from my lethargy, impatient for a word of praise
to soothe her haughty heart. She’ll acknowledge
my oblations at feeding time if I present a worthy
offering: morsels of fresh sins sauteed in remorse,
garnished with shame.

The Mind of God stares vacant
but her azure eyes spy my indiscretions.
She sinks claws into my thigh, jumping
at my unexpected cries, hauls her holy body
far from my transgressive self. I ignore
her disappearance, refuse to search
for her return.

The Mind of God sheds indifference
now and then, wraps around my soul,
marking me as hers alone. She slinks into my lap,
gently kneads me, sinking down, content. I acquiesce
and rub her chest—I need her warmth.

We spend a quiet moment giving,
receiving love that neither
she nor I can comprehend.

Karen Dresser is an educator, artist, and poet/playwright. She lives with her cats Pita and Emmi in Greensboro, North Carolina.