Mourn the memory that replays
Mourn the pure meows crying for food
The sound that stumbled me out of bed
The sound that she’d make at night
Begging to cuddle
Or to get a treat
Or say hello
A sound that replays as I walk up the stairs in my home
Knowing that each step I take brings me closer to the top
Knowing that no matter how long I wait
The sound is gone–it just stopped.
Mourn the fur that crowded the furniture
And got the rest of the family sick
But now slowly disappears from each surface
Mourn the things that were once hers
But now, stay untouched in the corner of a bedroom
A scratch toy–covered in photos
Or an unwashed blanket that was wrapped in her fur
Or a carpeted floor that she lay on, waiting to rest
Mourn what used to be there
Mourn how it ended–unsuspected and unknown
How her eyes looked that day
Or how she felt–stiff as rock
Mourn the lack of sleep
The fear of replaying that morning
Finding her again between my legs
As if she had laid for hours
Untouched–unnoticed
With cold, dead eyes
A body with no soul
Mourn the what once lived happily and freely
But now rests in the cold, wet ground
What once was a kitten–pure and my all
Is now only seven, and suffocating in deep snow
Mourn this mess
That holds great remembrance.
However, mourn the great loss.
As I weep in severance.
