Jamie O'Halloran
In the Next life I Hope to Be My Ex-Husband’s Cat
Brown cat slips onto a new bed
every nap. He makes the high places his
and the low places his where I would walk
across the kitchen’s chill vinyl. He stretches
for cooling, or curls like a moon
into his warming blood. In his old age,
his claws decline to retract and scatter
on his paws, grains of rice in a soy-glazed bowl.
His is an ancient soul.
Copyright (C) Jamie O'Halloran, 2006. All rights reserved.