Denise Levertov(1923–1997)
Scenes from the Life of the Peppertrees
The peppertrees, the peppertrees!
Cats are stretching in the doorways,
sure of everything. It is morning.
But the peppertrees
stand aside in diffidence, with berries
of modest red.
Branch above branch, an air
of lightness; of shadows
scattered lightly.
A cat
closes upon its shadow.
Up and up goes the sun,
sure of everything.
The peppertrees
shiver a little.
Robust
and soot-black, the cat
leaps to a low branch. Leaves
close about him.
The yellow moon dreamily
tipping buttons of light
down among the leaves. Marimba,
marimba—from beyond the
black street.
Somebody dancing,
somebody
getting the hell
outta here. Shadows of cats
weave round the tree trunks,
the exposed knotty roots.
The man on the bed sleeping
defenseless. Look—
his bare long feet together
sideways, keeping each other
warm. And the foreshortened shoulders,
the head
barely visible. He is good.
let him sleep.
But the third peppertree
is restless, twitching
thin leaves in the light
of afternoon. After a while
it walks over and taps
on the upstairs window with a bunch
of red berries. Will he wake