Debra Matthes



The Cat’s Purr



“Grief is the price we pay for love.”    Elizabeth II


I look at my bed so soft and inviting

as soft as a cat’s purr.


I will go there now.


Now, that I have spent several

early hour mornings mourning

you and I.


You are the lynchpin, the kingpin,

the shear pin.  My delusion.  Mine.

You keep me from the abyss.

The suicidal abyss that will end my life.


You protect me from the shear weight

and the force of all that threatens to crush me.


If I am you,

and you are me,

and you are a delusion,

then who am I?


They said in the hospital

to let them know if I heard

or saw anything that wasn’t there.

Circuitous logic.


I can still hear the thrill in his voice,

and the faint murmur of the cat’s purr.