she's gray, she's cold, she's stiff, she's dead
the cats' bowls are empty
the cats hide beneath the chairs
the worn leather chair
the oak chair with the green cushion
she sits where she always does, but slumped
she's dead, gray, cold, stiff
the cats shy away from the uniformed men
the men are calm and stoic
they stand up straight
they fold their hands together at their belts
it smells bad in here
old food, cat poop, and -- she's dead
her face is slack, uneven, droopy
she was beautiful
still a lovely profile
her mouth dropped open
this is still her house
papers and books pile around her on the sofa
the blue and green plaid sofa
the over-sized sofa
her cats are whimpering from beneath the chairs
i fill their bowls with water and food
they come, they swerve around
the uniformed men, they come to drink, to eat,
to live
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