I Know What You Did

He came to me,

First at night,

Awaking me,

The tiny face in tears,

But not in tears,

Untouchable,

“I know what you did.”

At first,

His grief was not mine,

Then he came to me by day,

Somehow,

Just beyond my reach,

“I know what you did.”

He no longer need come to me by night,

My sad psyche seemed to summon him,

Or await him,

That my slumber might be disturbed.

I was powerless to reach out,

Powerless to silence him,

As he called me to account for an evil,

An evil done long ago,

In a far off place,

Who could remember?

“I know what you did.”

I had stepped across a line

Into a space,

Where none should be.

I could not undo,

What I had done.

I knew him not,

But he knew me,

Or knew my heart,

As it once was.

“I know what you did.”

But I knew not,

It lay too far,

In my wake,

As I hoped,

For a peace,

That would not come.

The Room

Those who suffer a great tragedy often feel they are alone. You are never alone. Many have gone before you. Forget not this fact.

The Room

In the room there stands,

Shelf on yellow shelf of Geographics,

Looking down upon a couch that once saw

Gentle passion,

And a long past dinner party.

Now there just remains a silent coffee table,

Holding on its muted top,

A sad few dusty cards,

That wish condolences,

In a house where emptiness is

Destined ever more to live.

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Farewell, Little Kitten

I was feeding my community cats, who live in two warehouses in downtown Syria, when a lady I know came up to me. She had spotted something in the road, which at first appeared to be a small clump of leaves, but turned out to be a very small, buff colored kitten. She had seen me feeding, so here she was, asking if I could take the kitten. After all, my wife and I are half of the MAD Cats organization. The poor little guy's eyes were glued shut with puss, and he was squeaking with unhappiness. At about five weeks old he clearly missed his mom. I slipped him into a box full of towels on the front passenger seat of my car, where he constantly tried to climb out while I drove the three plus miles home, with one hand holding him in.

My wife cleaned up his eyes. We named him Reid, after Kathie Reid, who had brought him to us (we couldn't name him Kathie). We took Reid to Laurie Counts, our kitten specialist, who treated his eyes with medicine, and bottle fed him (Reid could and did eat real kitten food, but Laurie liked to give very young kittens a little extra something to make sure they had all the right nutrients since they couldn't nurse).

Reid was very active, and lots of fun. He played with the other kittens, all bigger than he was, but a few weeks later he began to lose energy and became dehydrated. Laurie took him to the vet, but he continued to go down hill until he died. It was a very sad experience for us. We felt that we had all saved a very special kitten, then we had lost him. Many kittens don't survive to adulthood; as an organization we have unfortunately lost many kittens this way, so we are used to this, but it's always very sad.

Little Reid,

The energy that launched,

A dozen smiles,

And more,

You lived so much,

In just a few short weeks,

Go join your brothers,

And your sisters,

Who charmed us so,

In days gone past,

Farewell.