Mourning

She has been looking for you
in the usual places
your carrier
under the desk
at the end of my bed
kitchen windowsill
corner of the couch.

Less now
than first four months
of running out the door
sniffing--
settling down
an audible sigh
visible heaviness--
into the same open
cold spot on
the hardwood floor.

I cannot tell her
of your fate
I cannot explain
about that day.

No singing
petting
crying
talking
prayer

soothes the sister
that grew together
with you
in your mother's belly
thirteen years
ago.

We are not the same
who knew
we'd miss you
this much
my boy
my cat
hers too.