THE JEWELED CHANT a poem by Laura Stamps of meadowlarks, mockingbirds, and blue jays lures the sun from its ebony cave, and at daybreak, as that fiery phoenix rises from the ashes of night to lift its lemon eyelid, spackling the sky with light, Poppy often appears, crouched in crabgrass or clinging to the low branches of a tree. Her tongue craves the ivory peaks of yogurt almost as much as her mother, who taps Poppy’s head whenever the kitten attempts to lap the milky treasure from both bowls. Each stray has gained weight after two weeks of regular meals, and their coats gleam like the gloss of new leaves. In the evening Poppy rolls in the grass beside her father, while he finishes dinner, her plump belly thrashing back and forth. Has a kitten ever adored her parents as much as this one? Watching Poppy, I pray for her joyous spirit, that it will always soar like the skylark, the sapphire lake of her life unclouded with gray, her days frisky with grasshoppers and butterflies, her nights a purring soliloquy of peace.