(for Pierce)
tumbles and gathers in the corner, dried
kibbles wait in his bowl. The other cats sniff
for him, mourn, as well. He would pound
on doors requesting entry and belly scratches,
wait at the backdoor for our return, and beg
by the screened door to go for a garden walk.
Those doors have all closed.
Our senior cat, Pierce, passed yesterday.
He was pure love.
I once
had a writing instructor who told me to
be more abstract in my work and to stay
away from sentimental subjects such as
babies and cats.
In a wasteland
where babies are caged and separated
from mothers, racism is on the rise, and
pure love dies unexpectedly, all the rules
of writing, living, surviving have changed.
TS Eliot would understand.
© Carol Parris Krauss
Carol Parris Krauss is a mother, teacher, and poet who lives in the Tidewater region of Virginia. She is a Clemson University graduate who enjoys her garden, pets, and American football. Her poems can be found in online and print magazines such as NewTimesNews, Storysouth, Eclectica, Amsterdam Quarterly (forth coming), and the South Carolina Review.
