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Elegy to Cookie Wookie

Cookie 041913Elegy to Cookie Wookie
(April 23, 2013)

Before you appeared
in my vicinity, I dreamed—

A pair of white, well shaped feet
peeking under a sage cloak
each toe inspired poetry.

The face was shrouded,
except for two cat eyes
intent on an object it placed in my hand.

Today my white bathrobe
worn from clingy nails
became your shroud.

Seven years of guarding.
Seven years of purrs.
Each morning
green eyes and snaggletooth.
Each night
a dainty ginger flower.

The April sun
has warmed the soil
in the lily garden.
A blade of weed
among the burial callas.

My eyes are painted
like an Egyptian princess.
I tread soundlessly from room to room—
a kungfu master would never
reveal the depth of her skill.

White stones
for the color of your paws,
brown stones
for the markings on your back,
the Sahara
and its black sand
after sunset.

What takes us away from this earth
is neither old age nor diseases
but a lack of intention.
If the intention remains
then we’re never taken away.

You had placed in my hand
the entire universe
even though I could not read
your mystery.

 

Photo by Julia Hsu.

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A Sunny Spot in the Garden

Last night’s storm gave way to a clear sunny day.  The candle burnt out, the wake for Petey was over.  The ground has been well prepared by the rain.  Dark, fertile soil, soft, yielded to the shovel.  We lined the bottom of the tomb with flowers from the garden.  Petey was put inside a well-worn pillow case before we lowered his body into the earth.

Dore read the Kaddish from the book of prayers.  Klimey came out and sniffed around the hole.  But when we started to push the soil back in she ran back into the house.  Cookie stayed inside the whole time.  She and Petey were never close.

We put a circle of stones on top to mark the tomb.  On a day like this Petey would sun himself on that spot.

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The Decision Maker

When my children were small we went to the pound and adopted a kitten.  We named her Ginger.  Within three months Ginger developed what seemed to be a cold.  When I took her to the vet she was diagnosed with some genetic disease that could not be cured.  We watched, heart-broken, as Ginger deteriorated.  “Put her to sleep,” friends and the vet advised.  I did, and I regretted the decision to this day.

Today we brought our cat Cookie to the vet.  She is diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome, which may lead to cancer.  While she is still at the vet’s getting more tests done, I find myself arriving at that same point, where my decision will affect the life and death of a beloved companion.  The insight learned years ago does not help me.  I am uncertain and subjected to influence just as before. Wisdom, it seems, only comes after the fact.

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The Companionable Muse

Cookie

They had found her in an apartment with a dead man and brought her to SF Animal Care and Control.  She was put in a cage in a big room with other cats, waiting for someone to adopt them.  When she saw me she walked near the cage door and spoke to me with her old, soulful eyes.  In an instant I knew she was to come home with me.

Cookie has beautiful stripes of orange and black coloring, and strikingly elegant pure white paws.  She snuggles next to me while I sleep and sits on my lap when I read or write.  During our monthly salon, Cookie often comes into the circle and sits among the poets.  She prefers to close her eyes and listens, except most of the time she is pursued by eager hands, wanting to pet or hold her.  When Cookie desires a nap over poetry, she burrows under the blankets, as darkness is the refuge of a poet.

Photo by Dore Steinberg.

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