After Your Funeral, It Hits Me

by | Aug 8, 2023 | Issue Thirty-Four, Poetry

Who the fuck is going to catsit while we holiday 
next year in Spain? The airbnb is nonrefundable. 
This is how I enter the stage of grief called anger. 

I can excuse the despair on your youngest child’s 
face, the terrible maths that had you overdosing 
a month before your grandchild was due. I can’t,

however, accept you abandoning a commitment
you made to be alive in six months. That would
mean we really did just bury you and then write 

a birth plan. That we really must add your photo 
to our altar of the dead and try to find someone 
who will love our unloveable cat as much as you. 

Pin It on Pinterest