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.
