Lucia, May, 2015
Lucia sits with me
my wrinkled cheek pressed against
her old tabby backbone
soon she’ll be all bones
under the avocado tree with her older brother
and other short-lived friends
while I’ll be ash, tossed, I hope
around my garden–maybe in
a newly-dug socket for a small fig tree.
Lucia knows, I think:
she jumped into my lap and purred
as I rocked and nuzzled her
something she’s never done before.
As for me, I adore each day of my life
and look ahead joyfully to my death.