Cat: ball of light, jumping like mercury through your soft outer self,
and quivering with the half-wild smell
of outside grass and inside pillows, hidden house-holes.
You are not here now, this windy March after you slipped through the door.
I still see you there, and over there--
White flashes (old snow or sunlight): they could be your proud white chest.
Your little bowl, shiny clean now,
Empty, these four blank days,
In the house that is silent of you.
The ache expands a little more
Each day: a sore opening,
A love so sharp that wields a tender knife.
You pound my heart, that loves, that love,
My little man, best little man,
Cat that you are, indeed.
Each night, I stand out in the
Dark and call, “good night,
come back to me!”
I hear my voice,
The stars stare back.
Although Bobbie Miranda Crafts primarily writes short fiction -- both adult and YA, and some pieces where both converge -- Bobbie also writes poetry and belongs to an online poetry group she discovered when attending Spalding University’s brief residency program for a Masters in creative writing. She also founded and run a horse rescue/sanctuary.