to mark a march day thirteen years ago
my ancient cat died in the night curled beside me as she always did I knew it in
my sleep I buried her limp body in the back yard clean earth her only shroud
just two weeks before my daughter my niece myself held each other in a long
three-way embrace then my niece — a nurse and his granddaughter — pulled the plug on my father we laid our hands on him as his red line went flat
then quietly left the room he was buried in the shadow of the barn the one with
the farm’s motto life as well as a living written on the silo his ashes in a post hole we
all troweled in dirt death demands such busyness decisions meetings calls notes
to mail to answer how can I mourn my cat when I have not yet had time to mourn
my father
© Jacqueline Jackson 2009
This article appears in Feb 26 – Mar 4, 2009.
