Meeting the Bar: on the death of my cat

miko

i.

my cat died today
no crickets sang, just
spaded earth

ii.

my finger traces lines on her leg
left by alligator teeth,
in old age she remembered
how to snuggle.

iii.

her first night out of the woodpile
she slept on my chest, my wife
out of town. She became
a mom to my boys,
checking on them each night.

iv.

her life left
by her mouth~
we mopped up
after

v.

goodbye my friend
see you again ~ hope
they have good food
in the after

vi.

meow.

vii.

nine lives in four states
well traveled cat
now on her way home.

viii.

she didn't write,
she lived---poetry,
then cleaned herself
with her tongue.

ix.

stalking silent at night,
we only heard
when she jumped.

x.

running across pillows
at 4 AM
she wanted out

xi.

lizards on the lanai
screen warmed by Florida sun
her favorite between meal
snack.

xii.

a shoebox holds
an unfilled hole
in my family.

Over at dVerse today, Anna has us writing postmodern poetry again, choosing from a list of writing exercises. One was to view an object or event from several different facets. I chose the death of my cat, two days before Christmas. She was almost 13, so I wrote 12 for her age. Anna will open the doors at 3 pm EST.