The Cheetah

The Cheetah is a blanket –
Polyester, furry, black spots
Spackled on a field of orange.
It kept my mother warm and swaddled
During spells of delirium as cancer
Tore through her bones.

The cheetah came from her bedroom
Which she visited aided by a holding hand
When the cancer retreated its decimation
And allowed her to climb our house’s
Narrow wood stairway carpeted in burgundy
Fabric slabs my father laid with Fidel, his employee.

She thumbed her notebooks there –
All scribbled with short stories and poems
To share at the writers’ group meetings
She could no longer attend, too weak
To compose, there seemed nothing to share.

Finished with her inspection, she sat slanted on her bed,                             
A floppy queen-sized one with her imprint still visible
From decades of sleep while that of her husband’s
Long gone  after ten years in the grave.
She would ask the aide to open a closet to choose
Outfits for the changing season to hang on the downstairs rack
Crammed to the side of her hospital bed  beneath the chandelier
That had glittered for Christmas dinner and special guests and now
Illuminates medications, hearing aids, flowers, books, and distilled water.

Soon those visits stopped as the cancer pounced
From its lair to spread and bind her to the hospital bed
For many days into nights – the cheetah covering her from
Clavicle well past the phalanges of her feet
When air-conditioning froze or the thermostat failed
To abate the winter drafts’ creep through warped windows.

The cheetah warmed her until the day before she died,
And when she died it comforted me through the winter-tide
That followed her death. I dreamt of her home of fifty years
Often: strangers to evict or my mother answering the door
Confused, dislocated as if cognizant she was imprisoned
Temporarily in one of my dreams. But soon the house
Dreams were engulfed by my Present, the cheetah
Clutter.

Yesterday, the cheetah was bagged and unloaded.
A space is open in my linen chest, my dreams
Relieved of hauntings from a home no longer.
Now, unexpected tears spring from quiet dens.

The Evergreens

I stand in an open field.
Sorrow blows the tops of tallgrass,
Sun’s flickering rays sieved through
Evergreens’ blue at the apogee of summer,
Cradling newborns in their limbs and trunks.

I raise my open palms to block the wind.
Turn and narrow my eyes upon the evergreens
With promise to shelter these fragile newborns,
Protect against the inevitable winter’s blows.

I allow sorrow’s gales to buffet me,
Question how long I can stand
To marvel and imbibe summer’s fleeting fecundity,
The evergreens’ potent promises,
Before Fall flags the end of all of this
With its gaudy, tattered tartan of gold, rose, and nectarine.

“The Cheetah” and “The Evergreens” previously appeared in Lothlorien Poetry Journal

Christopher Sahar is a musician who enjoys writing poetry as an avocation. Born and raised in New Jersey, he received his B.A. in English from Oberlin College and his Master’s in Music Theory and Composition from Queens College/City University of New York. He resides in the Astoria, Queens, section of New York City, where he works as a church musician, educator, and occasionally earns income from music compositions and freelance writing.  A composer, his works have been performed both in the United States and Europe, and he has written a libretti and lyrics for operatic and vocal works.