Hate That Cat by Sharon Creech

J ANUARY 24
    After tremendous tugging
    at my broken brain
    I finally dug up a metaphor.
    It’s about the kitten
    (who now has a name:
    Skitter McKitter
    because that’s what she does
    skitter here
    skitter there
    skitter every-every-where).
    Ready? For the metaphor?
    THE BLACK KITTEN
    The black kitten
    is a poet
    L  E  A  P  I  N  G
    from
    line
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â to
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â line
    sometimes runningrapidly
    sometimes s o o t h i n g   s l o w l y
    here and there
    up
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â and
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â down
    d
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â o                                       UP
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  w                           UP
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â n             UP
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â and
    in a silent steady rhythm
    exploring
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â all
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â the
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  tiny
    Â Â Â Â Â pieces
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â of
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â the
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â world.

J ANUARY 31
    Well, no
    don’t
put it on the board
    because now that I read it again
    it doesn’t make sense.
    I know what I was
trying
to say
    But I didn’t get it right.
    The kitten
is
a poet
    it’s something I
feel
    but I can’t get it into words.
    A good poet would be able
    to paint, with words,
    things that you can feel
    but don’t know how to say.
    It’s sort of like when
    my mother
    puts one hand on my back
    and one hand on my chest
    to
hear
me laughing
    or to
feel
me laughing
    because
    then she understands
    what my laughing
    sounds like and feels like.
    She can see me laugh
    and she can sign the word for
    laugh
    but she cannot hear the laugh.
    Yesterday, she put one hand
    on Skitter’s back
    and one hand on her stomach
    so she could
hear
the purr.
    I cannot explain a purr
    just like I cannot explain
    why the kitten is a poet
    but
    she
    is
    And I cannot explain
    how my mother paints
    words
    with
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â her
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â hands
    but
    she
    does
    And I cannot explain
    how—
    when we paint words
    with each other—
    I hear sounds
    but I do not know
    if she hears anything—
    any strange or amazing
    or good or terrible
    or sparkling or fizzing
    sound
    at
    all.

F EBRUARY 7
    So much depends upon
    making words
    without
    sounds

F EBRUARY 11
MY YELLOW CHAIR
by Jack
    Description
    This is a concrete poem, where words are used to create a poem that takes the shape of its subject. This poems looks like a chair and the author has outlined in pencil the shape of the overstuffed chair. The text reads:
    low chair yellow chair yellow chair yello
    yellow chair yellow chair yellow chair yello
    squishy soft squishy soft squishy soft squish
    squishy soft little hole squishy soft squishy
    squishy soft little hole squishy soft squishy
    rounded squish squish