November #4

Old Lady with Cat

While my body snores

at last, on these humid nights,

he, my black-haired darling,

prowls the cool outdoors.

Mornings he's nearly always

back, sharing my bed,

accepting an embrace

before requiring breakfast.

If I wake up still alone,

by the time I open the door

he's running up the front steps

calling a greeting.

We remember the others

who were here, whom we loved,

but now they are ghosts, and this

is the end time (may it be long)

when we, being finally only two,

are all-in-all to each other.

In age we learn the true things —
e.g. this is important, e.g. this is enough.

— Rosemary Nissen-Wade