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Amid Incantations.

    A scent of creosote closes the day
   as I approach the train yard's wide artery,
   where weeds grow between the rails.
   An apparition--a white kitten--
   rises from the storm drain
   and watches me with wary eyes
   before slipping back
   into the street's dark slot.
   White cats like riddles,
   symbols beyond my ken,
   slope into my held of vision
   during these, my recent, heat-bent days.
   McGregor's rabbit hunter
   took my measure from a yard,
   then, with definite, downcast gaze, looked away--
   a moon-drop among flowerpots.
   A big tom stretched a window sill,
   a ruff of fur around his neck.
   White cats left to live outdoors
   get smudges on their ears.
   Their coats pick up grey dust,
   their haunches stained
   by car grease and catbird blood,
   but from a distance, they are clean.
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Author:Woodford, Annie
Publication:The Carolina Quarterly
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 22, 2017
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