Threshold Guardian

Sometimes, all you need is an orange light.

Photograph by author.

It’s cold and wet out there
Midwinter sorrow
I had plans for a productive day
Maybe tomorrow

Exhausted by my own expectations
and indifference,
it should be liberating that no one cares,
but action requires an external prompt, sometimes.

A source needs a sink to materialise
and so much has sunk inside,
become too crystallised into mass.
It takes effort to turn flesh into fiction.
Each time I throw a chunk of me onto the spinning wheel
my hands, they tremble
and the clay disintegrates. 
It takes effort to become, 
so for now, let me just be.

But what’s that gentle call – a threshold kitty.
He says, come out of your shell. It’s sunny.
Baby Bunting, let me rub against your thigh.
I have been prowling your dreams all night,
devouring the mice that multiply
on your ceaseless thought crumbs.

Just stop thinking. For once.
My single orange brain cell
does well to focus
on the immediate. 
Not strategy, but intention, gives me everything I need. 
Watch me: 
Aren’t I so pretty?
Your threshold kitty.
Now, feed me.