The Day Your Cat Died

Tomorrow another September begins
the leaves will begin to flame,
but there will never
be another like this.
I’ve been sifting
through the ashes,
forgetting I still burn,
still char,
still disintegrate;
my heart blackened on the edges
but the center burns white.

The days begin to shorten and
the nights turn chill;
what can I say
about September
that hasn’t been said
before?<

But this time will
be the first September;
not fresh
but accepting,
not new but a
different shade
a different temperature –
a flame you could hold
your hand above.

We began
the countdown in August.
Three weeks ago
I packed your jackets.
Two weeks
your shirts.
One – your pants pulled
off the hanger and folded.

Now I send you your cat, she’s missed you.
She’s turned cold.

My August
is a strange amalgam;
part only me,
part still “us”.
When I’m alone
I toss & turn in the ashes
‘til I fade with dawn’s ember;
during the days, I scatter myself,
at times remembering
I scattered you in June.

This was supposed to be a love poem.

Tomorrow September begins;
my year burning towards this
multi-hued
Fall.
Fade.

December comes.


Ariel
Aug 31, 2011