A Meditation, After Putting Cleo to Sleep

For Mom

some equate smallness
with insignificance,
as if worth isn't just
a matter of vantage point--
perspective, time, and a little luck
held like a fragile package
so delicate
in one's line of sight.

as her tiny heart slowed, then stopped,
I thought about how loved she was,
so thoroughly,
with Dad's cooing voice
and nicknames,
with his large, callused hands
stroking her fur,
nape to tail,

and how his line of sight
would only blur when
suddenly flooded--
when suddenly taxed--
or overcome with grief
for the small creatures
he had loved and lost
so many, many times, and
I think of this, today,
with this little creature,
old and yet still a kitten,
her purrs slowing down.

our breaths are small--
most of the time, anyway--
and so are our choices,
like when we ask someone else
to take away our pain
when we are ill-equipped
to do so ourselves.
and with perspective, time,
and a little luck,
we can learn to forgive ourselves
and know--
hands losing purchase, every day--

we're doing the best we can.