Sunset certainly the sun glowed orange yellow pink
Near the lake by the huge weeping willow
Glinting lies rippling across the top of the water rustling
Now smooth
And it rained
Circles overlapping one another in impossibilities
It was always raining
The low clouds hugging the spirit in a damp uncomfortable grip
Meaty fingers digging into arms or thighs
Faint hint of juicy fruit gum and aquanet
I should pick better words for the sunset colors
What word is more pink than pink or that shade of orange which
Hovers and blends between the hot pink and the glowing yellow
Golden salmon peaches blues
And the dark dark water under the glinting
swallowing the colors
Until they shine palatable
The grey tabby brushes loose hairs against
Knee high socks
The design is lovely, not quite lace but pointelle
I want to pet her and I reach
The reprimand is as fast
I pet anyway
I belong to no one
Hissed rebukes and I will pay for it later
I would no matter what
Pets or no pets
The tabby and I are commiserating
There is too much noise and nodding and tight smiles
Grief stricken eyes but they don’t know the depth
And breadth of it
They think they weep for the person who died
That they weep for those of us left behind
But in the end I am sure
Everyone is weeping for Abigail
Look at her she purrs
Her fur is soft and gently striped
Her whiskers are white and stiff
A minister says he and she and they are with God now
And no longer in pain
The water glints
Are you sure about that
Why then do we weep for Abigail
If big Ned is no longer
And Sissy’s in the grave
And Aunt Delila’s coffin slowly lowered
And the dirt’s thrown down
A clod
Pad pad pad and a soft strike
Retracted claws and still there’s a snag
On a pointelle knee high sock
It’s grey too the socks
The corduroy dress, the thin kind not that
Ropey thick stuff
Shoes are tossed in a corner by a door
Wooden floors beg for sliding
Even as the dirt comes out in hushed whispers
No one is good enough to avoid speculation
Was it the pills or the heart
Had someone found out about a scandal
Was there a scandal
How scandalous that there’s nothing to speculate
Was he or she or they just boring and dull
And the sun is setting and setting and will never
Fall beyond the horizon and this is hell
This landscape of midwestern church clothes
And sensible shoes
And corduroy and tabby cats who speak in gestures
And rolling throat noises
Feet are sliding on the wooden floors and someone
Says stop that
And someone else says let her be she doesn’t understand
But we are all gathered together for ever
Weeping and weeping for Abigail
I’m sorry you are weeping too
I’m sorry no one escapes it
The Sun sets and the rain falls and the water
Absorbs more water and the circles overlap
And the weeping willow falls into the lake
Drowning
The earth has a gap now
A ripped up shredded space where a giant
Of motherly love once stood
The secret behind every tear drop
Is the how the blood of the tree flows
Without ceasing and everyone who has ever
Laid on the floor and cried
Or faced the ceiling as silent tears slide onto a pillow
Weeps for Abigail
All weeping for Abigail
And they don’t know it yet
But when they lie stiff in satin lined boxes
Wearing the nicest set of clothes they hated
Their spirit has finally understood what it means
Because the stocking covered feet no longer slide on the wooden floor
No one is there to pet the grey tabby
There’s no thighs or arms to pinch and grab
No laughter shouting crying out defiant
There is a ghost animating a body
Abigail is dead and they can’t see her until
They cross the veil
They know then they were always weeping for Abigail
They know then they were always Abigail
A ghost animating a body and not understanding
The glinting of light on the water
Or how sunset lasts forever
Or that it’s good to be notorious
