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[Poem] Jacob is wrestling with the angel

A poem about my cat and also about god
[Poem] Jacob is wrestling with the angel
A black cat in a windowsill leaning over an amber glass bowl of herbs to sniff a gray iron cauldron imprinted with a pentacle.

Jacob is wrestling with the angel 
in the windowsill, its papery wings 
no match for his nimble, swatting limbs.

Some unassuming messenger, 
an insect or maybe god, etc. 
is torn coxa from thorax and left 

to lie in rest until the pieces are swept
into a cotton fiber shroud on cleaning day. 
Its message will be unheard, unheeded

while Jacob licks his hands clean,
barbed tongue on sheathed claws, 
and turns to wash his brother’s feet.