When first you arrived
Your claws were sharp
And pricked my skin
You howled in hall and den
And study
And I howled too
Not knowing how
We could go on
But now
Time has passed
Grief runs more quietly in our veins
You curl upon my lap
My hand rests on your sleek fur
And within
Under my fingertips
The tiniest breath of a purr
Begins
After three years, I mostly have my sorrow under control, but sometimes it springs out in the most unlikely places and surprises me. This morning on my way to the garden center, I stopped at McDonalds to grab an egg McMuffin. As I was exiting, I held the door for an older gentleman to enter. “Good morning,” I said to him. He smiled, seeming a bit surprised, but returned my greeting. As I walked to the car, my eyes filled with tears. Such a simple thing, saying “Good morning.” And I will never say good morning to Bill again, or see him again.