Today I stroked my cat – the one who wears the soft pin-stripe suit.
The one with fathomless eyes, tufts of hair at the tips of her ears, the holy M on her forehead.
My tear dripped on her nose as she contemplated me.
I was perfecting a good-bye that had taken me by surprise.
Why are they all a surprise?
Why is this one different?
Why are they all the same?
Today I was skimming the New York Times Bestseller book.
The catch-phrase: “Stunning . . . certain to be a book of the year . . . “
The endless words were throwaways.
I set the “unmatched detail and truth” aside,
Is there one good-bye to end all good-byes?
Why ever start? Why ever love?
The fix wears off – even when it was lengthy friendship –
Besides the visceral, incendiary chemistry.
Wait. Who is that I see just beyond my vision?
Once a month I play cards with a quick, straight-backed prankster in her ninth decade.
She has said good-bye to husband, siblings, two children, three grandchildren.
She refuses to go to funerals anymore.
Some have perfected good-bye.