discover, mid breath
that it is easier to breathe.
my hopscotch memory
skips over the tense days of the last few weeks
(reflecting, with knew knowledege, i now recognize it was months)
i remember your other nickname
for your twitchy tale--a dancing plume peculiarly yours
and how, each time you stood under the empty
piano bench that serves as our coffee table
it played a delightful bumpity ditty.
(camera photos are rarely very good, but often what is in hand)
Smiles coming more easily now
hopping back lightly over anxious days
to the all those moments to choose from
(even the ones that leave the jute rug in my workroom with a shredded hem:
"Bad cat!" i say
and you look up at me not the least bit worried
until i stomp my feet and pretend to attack with clapping hands
as you trot off
the mind jumps back again
to this place where the clenching ache is slowing loosing its grip
and i see you
and the rest of my family who move lightly
walk silently where you do
Even as i shake my head
knowing i'll never stop finding ginger cat hair
here, there, everywhere
Thank you, Kirby.
Thank you dear friends for your kind words here and elsewhere.