Poetry Sunday: February by Margaret Atwood
"February, month of despair..." saith the poet. But also month of joy - the month of my firstborn daughter's birth. Those of you who have been following the blog for a while may recognize that I have featured this poem before (the last time in 2024) but it is actually a favorite by a favorite author, so here it is again. I hope you enjoy it. February by Margaret Atwood Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat, a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries to get onto my head. It’s his way of telling whether or not I’m dead. If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am He’ll think of something. He settles on my chest, breathing his breath of burped-up meat and musty sofas, purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat, not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door, declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory, which are what will finish us off in the long run. Some cat owners around here should snip a ...