The Cat

I’d pass it on the mission trail— half-decomposed, green burr-like eyes beyond my thoughts or pity, tail curled into questions only flies would answer, as they staked their claim to rotting tissue. Food for worms, and mocked by summer’s honey flame, it had no choice but come to terms with piecemeal dissolution. Those loud buzzes echoed in my ears until it circled and then rose, converting me—some thirty years since—into the lone passerby and witness, ever on my way from daily service, like the sky itself on resurrection day.