Saul Steinberg

A cat cycles over the bridge from March to April
on its way to meet Summer.

A yellow bird is flying under the bridge
close to the bright blue river.

There are other, rainbow-coloured birds
but they, like the cat, are heading out of the picture.

February to March was quite another matter
as the cat rode the harsher alps of winter.

There were no bridges on that journey,
a sudden shift from frozen tundra

to yellow earth as if March itself was a bridge
between a hard month and one much crueller.

In the yellow of memory what will be recalled
will be exactly what's in the frame: nothing sinister,

no flat-footed crocodiles travelling light,
no border guards, or passports to surrender.

The cat is glad to be travelling on the springy earth
in fact, he couldn't be happier

this rapt Spring morning than if he'd been thrown
a fish straight from the steaming fryer

and freshly wrapped in a glossy 35 cent
cover of a 1960's New Yorker.

« Back