Te Amo

Te Amo

Frigid wind slithered
around my window 
this morning 
reminding me
that last year’s cold 
froze gas pipes and you. 
As I dashed to tend fires
you somberly called me
but I could not find
nor coax you from
your arctic nest.
Early the next morning, 
protected by
mittens, hat, scarf,
down vest, wool coat,
thick socks, warm boots
I forged into the icy blasts
to seek your agreement:
Please come live with me, 
at least until spring.

I carried bribes as well, 
smelly and greasy,
fit for your Small Highness.
Where had you sheltered,
bravely shivered and called?
Checking the wood pile,
under the car, inside the horno,

between the lilacs, near the well,
echo-locating meow for meow, 
my feet grew stiff, my neck hot
before I lifted the hood
and felt you uncurl 
sinuosly into my heart. 
Ah, little one, little yellow boy,
please come live with me,
at least until spring.  

When I was in the hospital
Carmen cared for you. 
When I returned, 
you cared for me.
Fierce little male child
sleeping round my neck
under my arm,
whenever I whimpered
your silky musical 
loving soothed me.
When I slept you
tormented Molly,
pounced on Lince,
bossy and passionate,
stealing food and
favorite nap boxes. 
When I cried
you sang me lullabies,
sun myths and dreams,
your faraway home tales.
Gigantic heart and ego
most assured of glory
and first caresses,
my golden boy,
my little solar love,
Te Amo, 
please come live with me,
at least until spring.
© 2013, Jeanne Treadway