She sits alone, gray fuzz-ball in her lap Says, “If you're thirsty, rouse me from my nap!” “Another morning's swiftly come and gone.” A wolf-dog sighs as she begins to yawn. The spiders weave their webs and capture flies, Yet one escapes and darts between her eyes. She curses with a most inhuman sound As startled kittens scamper on the ground She growls, “At least you two have common sense To know that what I say is what I meant! So, when I say to stay back or be gone, Unlike that bug, you never bumble on And fire at me with unprovoked attacks... Now, where'd I put that scratcher for my back?” She scrapes her skin with forks, releasing oil, And barring signs of red, she contorts and toils Until a wince of pain completes her task, Then fingers flit away, nervously fast. “My last two nails,” she cries, “They're all I've got!” “The doctor stripped my toes of their whole lot, And asked me in my 80-some-odd years Why couldn't I kick the picking and face my fears?” She ponders if her birth-mother burns in sin For the scratches in her arms so long and thin Too hard a pet on the head of the eldest cat Now adds a few more scratches to her stats “Get out!” she screams and flings open the door. Outside replies with rain and thunderous roars. “Get in! Get in!” she screeches at the dogs With muddy fur and flesh too waterlogged, And sunken faces begging to forgive Her mind now races, losing the will to live “Just go away!” she answers to cats' meows, Ricocheting off the walls of her tiny house, She crashes forehead first with hanging pans, Before a heavy handle fills her hands. But, static from the lightning heeds a call To the radio resounding from the hall “This can't be right, oh no, not yet this way,” She says as a familiar melody plays, “In 80 minutes' time, I'll make my own, A requiem for the restless and alone!” She finds a scrap of paper and a pen. DNR, she spells, with cremation in the end. “To whom it may concern, I leave this place, And pray that you may find some social grace. You'll wear away your tires and driveway slabs, Unlike faded skid marks left from taxicabs. My dogs are good with children, when they show. Please, don't forget that Freya loves the snow! Korinna-Kitty's vocal and Tabitha's sweet, But Bastian-boy takes way too much to eat! Luna's skittish but, in the night, she's calm. All she really needs is a magic mom!” The radio fades to give way to her mind: A forgotten song the festive ones left behind She babbles now in half-forgotten French Then says, “I guess I'll never shake that sense!” “That charming soul will never get his way!” An alarming toll, the music starts to change As she ends her page and grabs her method of choice, Inside her head, she hears a timid voice. “You don't remember my love for all those years?” Her breath grows short, her eyes well up with tears. “80 years of curiosity for what...? Some finger play and years spent stuck in ruts?” The inner voice did regretfully remind, “You had the heartbeat but, I could never speak the rhymes!” “I wished for my young child to take your old hand, And find someone to finally understand Enough to break her cycle of abuse...” A ringing blow from iron, “It's just no use!” “Can't you see the pain that piled on me? A pregnant belly ever lacking a baby! A bloody mess that once was clean and pure, And never once the touch of flesh procured!” The inner voice returned, now meek and mild. “I loved you, Mama Kay!” spoke the little child. “Katelyn, Katie, Kara, Mama Kay... I'm nothing, no one, all of you go away!” She curls her fingers round the iron so tight That palms now blush in purple, knuckles white. Blood boils to the surface, bruising arms. The radio now sounds a second alarm. Her heart pounds in her head, her thoughts give way To, “Dies Irae,” and, “Libera Me.” Petite paws patter as the cast iron falls. Collapsing on the floor, she seeks the walls. Blood pressure high, her veins about to burst. Without a voice, she tries for one last curse. A burning flash, her eyes now glow bright red. A sliver of hope, a hand beneath her head She lies in peace, her body surrenders to flame As many bereaved faces cry her name Early Autumn leaves of golden rust Now scatter in the breeze along with dust He fills out forms, the ink runs stained with tears, And plants a rose bed for the coming years. The little one now feeds the chubby cat And old, gray dogs still sleep near where she sat. He hums a tune and tries to guess the words While crumbs from her bread recipe feed the birds Remembering now, crying out her favorite song, He seals with a kiss this note, “I've loved you all along!”
WOW......what a masterpiece writer you are...but that was so sad and scary..........and made me feel hurt.... writer's job is to make people feel something....you accomplished that, all right.....
I was dealing with rejection/abandonment issues at the time, wishing for one of those fairytale secret admirer types to come forward and find me since every guy I ever found was a new lesson in the books to learn from. I began meditating on the concept of being a crazy old cat/dog/animal lady living out in the middle of nowhere and this poem spilled out.
Well, I am living in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of dogs and cats and your poem is how I feel some days, too....so home run for you. lol Seriously, it was beautifully written, very poignant and you are an excellent writer.
