Moving with a Siamese Cat, poem by Brenda Davis Harsham (WHEN I MOVED Poetry and Prose Series)

Silver Birch Press published another poem, this time one that recalls moving with my cat, when I was a younger woman. Thank you Silver Birch Press and Melanie!

Silver Birch Press

HarshamMoving with a Siamese Cat
by Brenda Davis Harsham

There is no agony more sublime
than moving with a Siamese cat,
yowling, howling in his box
for hours on end
until any end seems
more appealing
than continuing.
He refuses food,
refuses water,
and stares at me with
enormous freaked-out eyes,
ears back in his I’ll-Get-You look
with fangs bared.
When I release him in a motel,
my nerves are shot, I put out
food and water before I
eat myself, but it’s no good.
All night.
Without stop.
Sniffing every corner,
stalking every shadow,
walking along mirror tops,
falling into the tub,
all while giving
an unearthly howl
of betrayal, rage, bewilderment
spiced with promises
of revenge.
If a cat could file for divorce,
moving two days
from home in a U-Haul
would be under
mental cruelty
and irreconcilable differences
Why did no one mention

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Disappearing Toadstools


Mr. Puffy!” Jane walked by a small patch of clover and two red leaves, calling for the Lord of the Stone Family. “Puff Monster!” The family cat definitely ruled their roost. Her father worried over him like a hen over a chick, Jane thought to herself with a smile.

She heard a gasp behind her, and she turned to look. Nothing. Except, beside the clover patch, was now a toadstool circle. All the toadstools looked down, as if not wanting to draw attention to themselves. They seemed to be hiding. Continue reading

Rose Fairy finds a Family


Each fairy breath of summer,
as it blows with loveliness,
inspires the blushing rose.
— Unknown


On the day Rose Fairy was born, a young family picnicked in the sunshine. Their chubby firstborn, Barnabus, wore a solemn smile and chewed on his fist. Then his father slipped on the stony ground, and fell smack, bang, boom on the ground with an “Ooof!” that could be heard for miles.

Barnabus’s mom cried out, “Charles, dear, are you okay? Is anything hurt?”

“My pride!” Barnabus’s dad answered with a hand rubbing his bottom, where he landed on the rocks, and straightening his glasses.

Barnabus removed his fist from his mouth, and drew in a deep breath.

Continue reading

The Kitchen Witch


Some moments are magical, like the moment a ladybug lands on your hand. Or the moment a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis and stretches out its wings. The moment a frog’s tadpole tail is gone forever, and its legs have fully grown. The moment Bella met the kitchen witch was a moment like that.

The kitchen witch looked like any other mom. She tied her hair in a ponytail, she was taller than the refrigerator, and she was wearing yoga pants with a loose shirt. She welcomed Bella and her mother, then she rushed around the kitchen opening the oven, stirring this, sprinkling salt on that, shaking frying pans.

She smiled and said, “Don’t touch a thing, it will all be ready on time.” She disappeared. Bella looked at the pictures in her favorite book about fairies and butterflies. Her mother sipped a glass of wine. When the kitchen witch reappeared, she was wearing a pretty dress, her earrings were swinging, and her hair was combed around her face. She had transformed, just like a butterfly.

Continue reading