Monday, June 6, 2016

For Grizz. May we meet again where the sun warms the ends of long days.
















Enough by Robin Chapman

There is always enough.
       My old cat of long years, who
              stayed all the months of his dying,
though, made sick by food,
       he refused to eat, till, long-stroked,
              he turned again to accept
another piece of dry catfood
       or spoonful of meat, a little water,
              another day through which
he purred, small engine
       losing heat—I made him nests
              of pillow and blanket, a curve of body
where he curled against my legs,
       and when the time came, he slipped out
              a loose door into the cold world
whose abundance included
              the death of his choosing.


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