Losing Hope

Nearly a month after,

The absence should solidify.

Should close.

Should heal.

But the wound remains raw,

The void left behind open.

Still I wait,

Listening for the door.

For the jingle of the bell

On the collar as she flicks her head.

Listening for the wail

Begging for food or attention.

Listening for the gentle pad of

Steps on the carpet.

For the throaty purr rumbling

From the warm ball at my feet.

Still I watch for her

When I arrive home.

But her tiny frame never sits

At the corner of the house.

Her corner where she waited.

Her agile body does not race,

Trotting across the street,

Tail an exclamation mark behind her

As she talks to me

About her day.

About the mouse she devoured.

About her brothers leaving

A mess around the food dish.

About how I am never home

As much as I used to.

How I hoped and prayed

For God to bring her back

To me.

What I would not give to see

Her lapping water elegantly

From the fishbowl.

Or bossing her brothers.

Or sweeping up after them

With a dainty white paw.

What I would not trade to

Feel her curled behind my knee,

Her motor rumbling.

To have one final conversation.

To say goodbye.

How I pray to God to,

By some miracle,

Return her to me,

My companion for seven years.

But the void lingers.

The grief still too new.

It seems that I lost

Hope

In more ways than one.