The Last Thing I Saw When I Left Her

The last thing I saw when I left was her cat in the bedroom window.

I remember very little about the long subway ride out to a friend’s place where I stayed for a few days.

And weeks later it was still depressing to look back at the empty bed in my new apartment each morning.

Then about a month ago I spotted her on the street as I was heading home from work.

I followed her for several blocks, but then slowed down and let the city gradually swallow her up.

Since then I’ve tried harder to keep busy, taking long bike rides with my Aunt Dorene, for instance.

I’ve been to a few art show openings with friends.

I’ve also been going through shoeboxes full of old family pictures that my mom left behind.

And I got my own damn cat.