Cats
Claire Scott
But I was there, I saw it
Water swirling under the bridge
We stood on, my father and I
White foam licking bare rocks
Eddies churning, sucking
Cats curled in bags of stones
Twisted with twine
Father, how could you
I was three
It could have been me.
Water swirling under the bridge
We stood on, my father and I
White foam licking bare rocks
Eddies churning, sucking
Cats curled in bags of stones
Twisted with twine
Father, how could you
I was three
It could have been me.
Listen to Claire read the poem here:
Working notes
I have never had the experience described in the poem. My father was not a violent man and never would have killed kittens. What I did feel was that I was a throw away child. My father was only interested in my accomplishments, never in who I really was. He never saw the child who was frightened of failure. He never saw the child who couldn’t sleep at night. Since that child didn’t exist for him, she could easily be thrown into water churning under a bridge.
About the author
Claire Scott has an MA in Counseling Psychology and is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with a private practice in Berkeley, CA. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Pennsylvania. Claire is a published poet who has been reading and writing poetry for many years. She is a mother of two children, has two children by marriage and four grandchildren. She lives with her husband in Oakland, CA.