BURYING THE CAT

Burying the cat, I thought, 

Not so much of the way she frolicked 

In the Christmas ribbons 

Or how she rolled on the ground 

Begging a stomach rub, 

As about the crisp morning air. 

The sunshine,

The good taste of water. 

The smell of the earth

And the warmth when two living things touch. 

I mourned her as her sisters might have, 

If they had known of death.

Wendy Freborg is a retired social worker and former editor who writes poetry, humor, and history. Her work first appeared in print in 1964 when the magazine Ingenue published one of her poems. More recently, her work has appeared in Right Hand Pointing, Chronogram, Clever, American Bystander and Peeking Cat Literary Review. Her life in California includes a small family, enough friends, and too many doctors.