The Cat
 
 
Curled, content;
black fur dusty from the fire.
I stretch a paw to her
in greeting;
purring as she strokes my ears.
 
I am her companion;
her child.
I wind around her legs
in devotion,
blinking a lazy eye
as she adds to the cauldron.
 
 
A worm, a black bird's eye,
a child’s scream.
One for the pot.
One for me.  
I lick my lips.
 
Laughing, she shoos
me away with the broom;
pours potion in the jar.
Her cackle sends a shiver
into the night.
To me, it is a lullabye.