The Healing Place

The Cardinal has flown in, his red banner      
as a departed lover waving strong in the tree.       
The stray cat has arrived too, regarding me      
     
from a distance.  We have  shared as much loss      
as we have food.  I am frankly amazed she has      
survived this long. I'm fairly certain she feels      
     
the same of me. Tonight we honor a silent bond      
known only to women. There is no separation      
of species between her eyes and mine. I hear      
     
her without ever a sound.  We share the survival      
and scarred strength that only comes with age:      
my traces of silver gray and her feral mange.      
     
There is a presence of a long-departed Soul here.    
She's not quite finished with Earth yet. Periodically    
she rattles pots and pans in the kitchen to be heard.      
     
She, too, had strong bones.  It's sacred here despite    
everything and anything. Broken benches, cracked    
trees, all manner of recovering things seem to thrive.    
     
They heal despite insult or injury. Amid this mark      
of Death a garden blooms and flowers seed; all manner      
of living survive between sugar ants and purple sage.      
     
I am God to thirsty vegetables and herbs, though I'm not    
despite their life being dependent on this water hose.      
The stray stretches and asks silently if I'm good to go.        
     
I have been blessed with a graceful endurance of      
circumstance. Just like the stray; just like the Ghost.      
If it falters this home of the broken heals my spirit too.        
     
The cardinal flitting in the branch above the cat and rattling      
from the kitchen serves to remind me in case I start to forget.      
     
~