But there, in your chair, sits your cat, confused.
BY
Contributing Poet
You swore we would never get a cat.
I come home each night and I stare
At that hauntingly empty chair
Where you’d spent your last nights
after the cancer corroded your throat,
And your words were stolen by the stroke.
But you’d always wave, and I’d smile
But I wouldn’t know what to say.
Now my brain floods with all the words
I wish I had said, and the things I should’ve done.
But there, in your chair, sits your cat, confused,
I hope you know she’s still waiting for you.
