Introduction by Ted Kooser: We've been selecting poems for this column for more than ten years and I can't remember ever publishing a poem about a cat. But here at last is a cat, a lovely old cat. Ron Koertge lives in California, and his most recent book of poems is Vampire Planet: New & Selected Poems, from Red Hen Press.

No one would take her when Ruth passed.

As the survivors assessed some antiques,

I kept hearing, “She's old. Somebody

should put her down.”

I picked her up instead. Every night I tell her

about the fish who died for her, the ones

in the cheerful aluminum cans.

She lies on my chest to sleep, rising

and falling, rising and falling like a rowboat

fastened to a battered dock by a string.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2016 by Ron Koertge, “Lily,” from Vampire Planet: New & Selected Poems, (Red Hen Press, 2016). Poem reprinted by permission of Ron Koertge and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2017 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Photo courtesy dimitri_c

It pains an old booklover like me to think of somebody burning a book, but if you’ve gotten one for a quarter and it’s falling apart, well, maybe it’s OK as long as you might be planning to pick up a better copy. Here Ron Koertge, who lives in Pasadena, has some fun with the ashes of love poems. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Burning the Book

The anthology of love poems I bought

for a quarter is brittle, anyway, and comes

apart when I read it.

One at a time, I throw pages on the fire

and watch smoke make its way up

and out.

I’m almost to the index when I hear

a murmuring in the street. My neighbors

are watching it snow.

I put on my blue jacket and join them.

The children stand with their mouths

open.

I can see nouns—longing, rapture, bliss—

land on every tongue, then disappear.