Supercat: "I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees."
Sorry for taking a little while! Finals week. Boo. But I got very excited at seeing this because Pablo Neruda.
“One more game!” Carter begged, though his eyes were crinkled with sleep.
Kara smiled at his insistence, but shook her head. “It takes, like, an hour, buddy. There’s no way we can play another game before one of us falls asleep.”
Carter shrugged as if the late hour did not matter, but his yawn and sheepish grin gave him away. “Promise you’ll come over again and play another game?”
“If your mom lets me,” Kara said, returning his grin. It was as close to a promise as she was willing to offer, given how long it had been since she’d last seen him. Carter was half-a-head taller than when she’d last seen him. His height must come from his father’s side, Kara mused.
Satisfied with her answer, Carter began to collect the various cards and place them neatly back in the Settlers of Catan box. Kara helped by clearing the empty bowls of ice cream and rinsing them out in the sink, chuckling each time she heard Carter yawn. He was nearly old enough to stay home all on his own—might have even been allowed to if Cat planned on returning before one in the morning—but since Ella needed the night off, Kara had been called in.
“Need anything else before you go to bed?” Kara asked once the sink was empty.
Carter’s head bobbed up and down with the heaviness of sleep. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks Kara. Night.”
“Good night!” Kara watched fondly as Carter retreated down the hall to his bedroom. Cat hadn’t explicitly stated what time he needed to be in bed, but midnight probably wouldn’t have been the answer. With any luck, Carter wouldn’t rat her out to Cat, and she’d have another opportunity to stay over.
A part of Kara wished Cat was with them, too, but simultaneously, if Cat were home, there would be no reason for Kara to be there. It had been too long since she’d last seen the media mogul. Kara was flattered to know that she was still trusted in the Grant household, despite the lapse in time.
Without Carter to occupy her attention, Kara wandered through the living room, stopping in front of the bookshelf. The television might keep Carter awake, and the last thing Kara wanted was for him to still be awake when Cat came home.
As expected, Cat’s library was filled with only the highest quality of literature. Kara recognized many of the titles from the last time she’d been there. Kara wondered whether or not Cat had read all of them. She didn’t seem to have the time, but Kara wouldn’t be surprised if Cat could quote from each and every one of them.
Kara’s fingers stopped over the leathery spine of a thin book. Pablo Neruda was spelled out in glittering gold cursive, beautiful and elegant. Carefully, Kara slid it from the bookshelf and brought it with her to the couch. Each poem had the original Spanish text on one side, with the English translation on the other.
Time passed quickly while Kara was trapped in the world of love that Neruda created through the breathtaking craftsmanship of sentences and stanzas. Several times, Kara found her heart hurting at the beauty and pain which he dedicated to nameless women on the pages.
The sound of a key in the lock snapped Kara out of her immersion in literature, and she quickly placed the book down on the coffee table, straightening her outfit before Cat’s entrance.
When Cat stepped into the room, Kara tried not to stare with too much intensity. You occupy everything, you occupy everything, Pablo Neruda’s words sang out to her.
“How was Carter?” Cat asked, hanging her coat and bag by the door before striding across the room towards Kara.
“He always is,” Cat said with a smile full of maternal pride. Her eyes flickered down to the book on the coffee table. “Twenty Love Poems?”
Kara shifted awkwardly, unsure whether she’d accidentally intruded on Cat’s personal things or not. It wasn’t as if she’d treaded into Cat’s bedroom, but the way Cat was looking at her made Kara think she might as well have.
“What did you think of it?” Cat asked instead.
“I-it’s beautiful,” Kara stuttered. It was an honest, if simple answer.
“It was my favorite,” Cat said. “He had a beautiful mind. All politicians ought to study poetry.”
Kara smiled softly at the comment. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Thank you. For watching Carter,” Cat added the second part as if it had not been clear.
“Any time, really,” Kara insisted, her eyes flickering back and forth between Cat and the collection of poetry on the table.
“Would you like to borrow it?” Cat asked with a smirk, noticing Kara’s divided attention.
Kara blushed. “Oh, I couldn’t really-”
“Yes, you can. I’ll get it back the next time I see you.” Cat waved her off dismissively. She picked the book up and Kara tried to ignore the hot rush that went through her as Cat’s skin brushed her own.
“Next time,” Kara repeated softly. “Thank you.”
Outside, after a somewhat awkward goodbye, Kara anxiously flipped open the book to find the poem that Cat had mentioned.
Every day you play with the light of the universe.Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,You are more than this white head that I hold tightlyas a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.You are like nobody since I love you.Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.The rain takes off her clothes.The birds go by, fleeing.The wind. The wind.I alone can contend against the power of men.The storm whirls dark leavesand turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.You are here. Oh, you do not run away.You will answer me to the last cry.Curl round me as though you were frightened.Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,and even your breasts smell of it.While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterfliesI love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.My words rained over you, stroking you.A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.Until I even believe that you own the universe.I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
stormborns
germansingergirl
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
