Public Republic

George Fillingham

Photo: ansik

“Later, the firecat closed his bright eyes
And slept.”
         Wallace Stevens

After Steven’s firecat
Had bristled in the way
Of the clattering bucks
As they swerved
To the left, and to the right,
He slept.

And as he slept, he dreamed.

He dreamed of dry crisp leaves
In the warm October sun.
He dreamed of waking,
Of arching his back, flexing
His paws, his claws.
His bristling

Firecat flame replenishing itself.

The next day I saw him
Curled among dead leaves
On the neighbor’s roof,
Licking paws and claws
Outside a broken attic window;
He yawned

So wide, he could have swallowed

Everything.