How does one celebrate
the birthday of a cat, do I
hold him close, fill his ear
with whispers of the
unlikely magic? Once I
dreamt of a cat stretching
itself along the windowsill,
watching the world, populating
my mornings, bearing witness
to my being, even on evenings
where my skin broke, chest
shaking in the way grief holds,
curl and sleep at my feet through
emails answered, so rare, the
company who asks for so little,
how to honor such a gift?
When a dog dies, I
discover back home, no
gravestone waits, yet the house
echoes with the loss of a
hundred rhythms, the grass
in the yard aching for those
familiar pads, the floor so
bare, the neighboring kids
tilt their heads, a miracle here
then vanished, somehow
looming larger now, old
friend, we adored you, loved
you more than we can bear.
Wherever I wander, so
my cat unfurls, posts vigil
outside the bathroom
door, my lover kisses
his crown in the moving
truck, I go looking for him
from hotel beds, forgetting
he is miles from reach, laugh
in memory of the Halloween
he shattered a plate and
watched me sweep shards,
amused then running, o,
orange companion, I
treasure the absurd life you’ve
carved out alongside mine.
michael king 