I dream strange.

Last night I dreamed a poem by Margaret Atwood.

I haven’t read anything by Margaret Atwood since The Handmaid’s Tale almost thirty years ago. Does she even write poetry? I don’t know. But this one appeared fully formed in my mind as I slept, complete with her byline, so I’ll give credit where it’s due.

I won’t claim it’s any good, and I don’t agree with her stance on free range cats or TTVAR (team dog! team bird!) but here it is:

Let My Cats Roam Free
by Margaret Atwood

When I go
Let my cats roam free the grounds
above the earth
above my tomb.

Let them roam
howling and fucking and stalking,
bringing gifts of vermin
to my clay feet.

Here tabby, here tom,
here pussy, pussy, pussy.
Bring me your gophers,
your towhees, your wrens.

Let jewels of feather and fur
and small sharp bone
litter the grounds
where my cats roam free.