artemis

tabby, tabby, tabby, — one word

for each time i forgot to feed you.

you didn’t meow like the other one;

your method of saying hello

came through waves of licking.

how awfully dry that was,

the pink sandpaper of your mouth

edging my fingernails,

going and halting by some

some unimaginable force

you held a kangaroo’s pouch

for a paunch — the furry, meaty

wad jiggling like baby fat (when you prance)

or a bowler’s triceps after a strike.

tabby, tabby, tabby.

when you fell sick with a virus,

you were as lame as when i found you.

i nurtured you like a child;

for some reason, I nicknamed you,

kitty-dumpling, and when you rallied

the name forever stuck.

when you died, (i’m so sorry)

tabby, tabby, tabby,

i wept like the mother of a soldier.

under the lemon tree i buried you,

a refuge from oncoming traffic

of my own car.