Issue 226, Fall 2018
Waiting for a deceased friend’s cat to die
is almost unbearable. “This is where you live now,”
I explain. “Please stop crying.” But he is like a widower
in some kind of holding pattern around a difficult truth.
His head, his bearing, his movements are handsome to me,
a kind of permanent elsewhere devoted to separation and death.
“Please, let’s try to forget, dear. We need each other.”
I feel I want to tell him something, but I don’t know what.
So much that happens doesn’t make sense. Each night,