completely unintentionally,
but louder than anything
I’ve ever meant.
We were standing around,
my best friend and I,
talking about Emily Dickinson
and the many physical forms death can take.
We were waiting for the bus in the cold
with a fuzzy, warm cat across the street,
the same colors as the fallen leaves,
except for that white belly,
like the snow we were wishing for.
He forced me to look away
as I stood frozen in fear
eyes locked on more than a single space,
but a single time as well.
And then we waited
for the bicyclist to clear the body
and for the body to stop twitching.
And even then,
the image still seared in my head,
I had to be forced to look away.
So we waited for the bus,
just across the street
from the first death
I had ever witnessed.
I’d seen close before;
walked in on dead hamsters,
rushed a dying cat to the vet,
sat in a hospital.
But today I watch death come and go.
I watched something die.
I screamed
and covered my mouth
and watched a fuzzy, warm cat
depart the Earth.
All I can think is that
it is my fault.
If I hadn’t needed to pet that
cute, tiny kitten,
maybe it wouldn’t have run
out into the street.
But maybe if I had waited for the light
and gone to another bus stop,
I never would have seen the cat.
But maybe if I had planned
a little more carefully,
I never would have hesitated at the light.
It has not been a good day.
I keep trying to find the good day,
but it has not been one.
I forced all the conversation I could,
but each moment of silence
was comprised of death and guilt.
Each fraction of a second
between sentences
was over-analysis of my faults.
And now it is late.
It is dark.
It is cold and quiet.
And we’re fearing nightmares
and cancer
and our own cats escaping into the street.
And I’m fearing ever crossing a street,
or letting a friend cross a street.
And I’m fearing deciding.
And, more than death,
I am fearing life.
