First draft

First draft

I’m not talking to my dead cat

It’s ok, I haven’t been whispering

Hey … to my cat, past and gone,

not to the one photo I bring up

from my phone when needs must.

It’s alright, though I haven’t let its memory

slip from old age, even though

It’s been more than fifteen months since

I left her under someone’s garden,

My farewell a sodden mess of tissues and shirt sleeves.

It’s always good to know at least I can ask the phone Hey…

Reassured that under the glow her smile

rubs away the soil over her face.

It’s ok, even though my face is drenched,

not from the day’s heat,

But from the reply to my Hey …