*Each day passes the next
like ghosts in a dark hallway.
You sit in this dim room
holding your dying cat.
Her heart beats against
the palm of your hand.
You turned the lights down.
The windows darken to black.
She gasps for life, then
does not breathe, then
gasps again. You find your-
self in the hospice room,
quiet voices on the other side
of the door. You listen
to your mother’s breathing.
This tabby manx has kept you
company for seventeen years.
Tomorrow she will not wake you.
*
--
sharon brogan
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