Poetry: Snow

Outside the world is a blank page

I do not like to disturb 

the perfect sheets of white

otherwise known as snow. 

But grown-up cat is curious.

She stares out the window

and howls deep from her belly

some primal cry 

I open the balcony door to let her outside.

She does not hesitate 

to imprint her five-toed signature there-

a tiny thing next to the scribble 

of winter sparrow 

I am certain below, at the feeder, 

I might find a whole tome  

of criss-crossed scrawlings - 

squirrel and turkey, 

the stamp of deer-

the Book of Members

who have written their names

on pages 

making their pledge of belonging

to the messy scroll of life.