Fall

The orange radiance of the harvest moon illuminated my room like the glow of a lighthouse.
Lights and mirrors warning ships in the night
And it’s fall and I am waiting
Impatient for the shoe to drop
Too many years of chaos taught me nothing different
And I am restless

After all I am the girl who disappears in the middle of the night
The child on the buses going nowhere just so I wouldn’t have to be home
The young one hoping to be remembered
In the ruins of all that was destroyed
I forgot how to trust

And as I stared up at the brilliance above I couldn’t help but pray I wouldn’t run
Images never seen don’t need to be erased
And they never really were gone
Like little slivers on my skin there were still marks
Or sometimes they lingered like the feeling of a shiver, as the colors of the sky grow dark

Most of the time I just pretended
Under guarded smiles and a muted tongue
I thought the world conspired with me
Allowing me to hide my head under veils thankful to not be seen
But it was me that was hurting all along

After all a tree falling in the forest does make a sound
And even under the comfort of your skin I can forget how to breathe
Or perhaps it's just I am holding the air still inside
Listening for the sound of the other shoe to drop

Felony

The Viking was right, it was just a simple task: just write. And yet here I find myself unable to find the words as if they are lost somewhere like the keys to my house. The sadness is indescribable. My body feeling as if I had gained 20 pounds over night, I was unable to move under my own weight. My life has been marked my so much loss and here I was facing the loss of my friend for the last 12 years and I just break. I almost feel embarrassed to feel so much grief. Here she is laying in my lap quietly purring and content. And here I am asking myself if I am doing the right thing by letting her go. We have shared so much but I never thought we’d be sharing a diagnosis of cancer. Mine in remission and hers inoperable. I almost wished it were me instead because I could understand and I had no way of explaining to her what was going on. I still don’t speak tabby.

She was just a little grey ball of fur the day she entered my life. After a visit to a vet and a bath, I discovered she was white. Nicknamed by a friend in grad school, she came to be known as “the cross-eyed beauty.” And although she shared her first 8 years with a 120-pound shepherd, she knew she was bigger. And she was. She was my comfort in times of pain and she was the first to hear the good news of the day. She is the first to greet me in the early hours as the sun begins its ascent. And she is my melody at night as the rumble of her purr soothes me to sleep.

She ended 2008 on a diet and began 2009 unable to hold on to her weight. Despite her condition she still rules the roost. She has the energy to remind her sister that the bed is only big enough for her. And she still slaps me in the calf beckoning me to play a game of chase. She guards the house unaware of her size. Greeting strangers at the door and meowing at friends. While rehearsing and vacuuming she will stand her ground. And despite her crossed eyes, no bug has ever been safe.

And now I am faced with saying goodbye. Unlike her sister, I can plan for pictures and I can hold her one last time. And I can keep telling myself tomorrow and silently pray that the day will never come.