print previewback MARGO TAFT STEVER
Surfaces
Take possession
of the blanket, the feel
of it, the smooth
and the lean, the lying
down of it, the way it
imitates the body.
This is the promise
I keep—to rest on the
bed under moonlight.
Yet so many cats
knead the surfaces,
their paws tap-dance,
wishing for food.
The dark summer
storm rips across
the bed, rumpling
covers like waves,
whitecaps against
each other.
Cats’ paws skim
the sheets as if
called by a higher spirit.
Their willowy bodies
curl together in sleep. 
Supermarket in Autumn
Surfaces