My Mother in the Hospital, and my Father—
like the cat we took in
from the cold—scarred, half blind,
quick skitter and claw—
suddenly on the counter
when my back is turned, stealing
Thanksgiving turkey, then
beneath my heel as I step from the stove.
Warm gravy splatters the floor, my clothes.
I want to scream.
I want to put him out, or lock him in an upstairs room.
And yet
he cannot help what he does
not understand.
I scratch his broken ears, stroke his spine.
I am afraid
of how hard it grows to forgive
his wiry hiss,
his purr
as he fattens on all I have dropped.
Jennifer L Freed is the author of When Light Shifts, a finalist for the Sheila Margaret Motton Book Prize.
Learn more at Jfreed.weebly.com