Serra S

Serra is a dusty writer from the Sonoran desert, though they are currently living in the mountains of Northern Arizona. Their writing style seeks to inspire one to stop and listen to the heartbeat of the earth and the one in your chest and realize that it’s all the same rhythm; that love echoes through everything. They currently have pieces published in Plants & Poetry Journal.

I let My Cats Go, Pt. 1

He returns from his adventures outside
covered with so much dirt and sunshine,
I appear to have adopted
a Havana brown— 
though his panther-esque features
are more prominent than ever.
In his eyes, I see
he wants to be king of the jungle,
or at least, of Linden street, 
or at least, the corner of it.

Or at least,
the backyard.

Now, he guards the cracked door,
watching the outside world like I used to watch him;
as though it might disappear if he turns away,
and I know I made the right decision.

This is his joy, his love, his reason for being!
To have the choice to be free, to dare and
venture from the cave and face the world.

I see neighbor’s cat and fast car and fulfillment
and know we both must go.
Fear, risk, reward.
Change is good. How scared I was to let him go
be free into this dangerous, unpredictable world.
Now look at him, willing words to pour
from my fingertips.
He is telling me the lesson has been learned:
let it go, let it grow,
(look at how he has inspired me so!)
What other changes could be made,
what other risky ventures lay on the other side
of that panther guarded door?

I let My Cats Go, Pt. 2

‘Open the gates, mother!’ she tells me in her softest,
most demanding mewl.
It is all I can do to not shake my head at her,
already I’ve opened up the east facing window
and the south facing door.
‘More windows! Open them all! Let the world inside!’
And I suppose she’s got a point.
In spite of my worries, she keeps coming back
to tell me how wonderful the outside is.
About the walls there are to climb,
and the birds, feathery dreams abound, to chase—
though she does not say if has had any success in catching them;
those are her secrets for now.

I let My Cats Go, Pt. 3

And why is he upset when I bring him inside?
Doesn’t he know I am angry, too? That I have
to keep making these decisions for him,
not knowing which one will hurt him more;
to keep him inside, where he is safe,
or set him free, so he can live.
I know I would not want to be trapped in a cage
all my life;
I cry at the door, but god does not let me out.
There are bees in my mind, but they do not make honey.
So then, I could assume two things— 

you must open the door yourself;
you must get some pollen for these thoughts.