Intrusive Thoughts

 

I’m afraid that my cat will die. She is a ball

at the end of my mattress. She purrs to the touch,

and I cannot help but picture my hands digging through the dirt

in the backyard, red clay under my fingernails, her limp body at my side.

I can almost see the quick flick of a paw. I picture her awake,

alive, helping me dig. I dangle a worm in front of her nose. She pauses

and crinkles her face like she does when I love on her after dinner.

She groans when I lift her from my bed. She knows

it is bedtime and does not want to leave. I let her stay

this one time. She glances up toward the ceiling.

She sees things I cannot.