Ben the vet said
he could amputate her leg,
were she younger:
cats can thrive on three.
Nights dwarf the moon – Do,
in plait with the sleepless trail
of my watch, seldom cries.
Countdown to endtime begins –
memories storm
the emptiness to come.
Crazy cells plunder Do’s leg -
their grave
in her seventeenth spring.
(Jerusalem, May 10, 2012)
I've missed your enigmatic and powerful poetry since I've been back, Bar. I can't say this is my favorite from you, but I often find it's hard to write poetry about our pets. It feels false to make it too dry and unsentimental, and yet it feels too manipulative if we do make it sentimental. I like how you try to bring in various contexts, from the nights and the moon, to the cells, but it all seems to just distract from what's on every reader's mind about the cat's leg being amputated.
"As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being." --Carl Gustav Jung
"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due." --Neil Gaiman; The Sandman Vol. 4: Season of Mists
"I'm on my way, from misery to happiness today. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh" --The Proclaimers
Thanks Morpheus, it's possible that I messed up re the tenses, but the point is she can't even be amputated, she's too old and would not adapt to walking on three, so we're left with mere, helpless waiting, preparing to live with memories only...
I too was absent for quite a while (busy, always busy...) and am glad to find you on the pages. Thanks for your candid assessment of this poem, Morpheus!!! and my best to you!
Oh Bar how painful for you both and the last stanza - heartbreaking.
Before sunlight can shine through a window, the blinds must be raised - American Proverb
There's such a fine and poignant balance in this between your attempt to be an objective reporter, and the ache one feels that you are holding back.
Thanks a lot Delta and Prince!
I thought this was beautifully and artistically done. It's always so difficult to find the right words and one cannot be objective about the passing of a pet ever.
Do you know Robinson Jeffers's The Housedog's Grave?
I didn't know Jeffers's poem, thank you for the link, what a nice, touching grief poem...
Thanks a lot, Fire, for your appreciation of the art part in my little effort.
And as for my cat, she's (very) temporarily better, "I'm not so well cared for as she is" for sure (to paraphrase Jeffers).
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