Crush-splattered by a Sunday driver
on the road between heaven and hell,
my father's shovel carried her soft fur
from pavement to grave.
Brown spots on white,
she had mewed after my childhood legs daily,
green eyes searching for food.
When my father lay dying, nine cat lives later,
the teen in our old home spoke
of childhood archeological endeavors--
cat bones in the back yard.
I told her the story.
Five days later,
my father was laid to ground.
When future archeologists
unearth his remains,
the cycle will be complete, at last.
Photograph: Family Archives
Music: Zodak the Priest by Handel