The World According to Poetry #4

Bury the Cat
By Stephanie Wood Miller © 2019 

My husband has prepared the hole

Square, small

Damp and deep

I knew, of course, that we would have to bury him

But now that the moment has arrived

I can’t put him so deep down

In the cold

I can’t leave him here

He was my friend

He slept with me

While I recovered from surgery

Licked me with his warm, rough tongue

Purred in my lap on winter nights

Cried for me in hunger and pain

We lower him to his last lair

Cover him with wet, black soil

So many graves yet to come

So much larger

So much deeper