little tiny sweet croaks
brought to me by absent hands
silence soon and here i stand,
a mortal with a lifespan
mary oliver said a lot
for letting go and loving hard
and i have great respect for bards
but no words have saved me so far
“i missed my cat more than my gram,”
is a phrase i’ve heard a lot
meant in comfort i haven’t sought
i’ll bury her on my love’s mom’s plot
drugs in her veins she seems anew
but why is that the saddest part?
i missed something there, back in march
a sign or symptom i could have known
can’t leave that mystery alone
keep prodding, googling on and on
“hey siri, where do dead cats go?”
i don’t know, i don’t know, i don’t know
i don’t know

