She walks these nights with me,
reminding me of midnight walks with the one I loved,
the one who lived with me in my first apartment,
the one I'll never get over.
This one,
a neighbor's aging domestic with only half a tail,
she knows she doesn't belong to me,
and I know I don't belong to her,
but we share secrets like old friends.
I tell her about him, the one who left me
as soon as the dog entered the scene:
how he loved the cricket symphonies,
and the train howling in the distance,
how he was young and strong and
owned the night
while riding on my shoulder
like a sultan king
or trailing through shadows
like a thief.
She throws herself to the ground,
rolls onto her back, saying:
You talk too much.
Touch me.
Even I get lonely.
I share a bit of liver from my pocket
and she bats it around the sidewalk
before tasting.
We limp around the block,
listening to midnight.
|
Author Notes
Diamond is my neighbor's cat who accompanies me on my nightly walks. She talks to me while we're walking, and, if I talk back, will throw herself at my feet. She has several names in our neighborhood, and I suspect is the recipient of several daily meals, as well.
|
|
