She follows us to the bright room, circling
at our feet, circling through the legs
of chairs, then over to the tall window crying
that small cat cry. Where is he?
Outside in his pond, the koi are circling,
looking up, around, not seeing
who they want to see. Where is he, they ask?
No scent of pineapple, no jolly Santa presence,
no sitting in chairs that sink into the sand. In his
glass house surrounded by his bamboo,
it is so quiet. His roundness vanished.
“He was still here when this tree
began to bloom.” his partner said, pointing
to the blushed magnolia outside. We paused,
enjoying its grace peeking around
the window frame, open handedness, beauty.

Still circling at our feet, she rubs her soft fur
against my leg. I reach down, pet
her warm head. I miss him too. I tell her.
I miss him too.

Losing Skip and Grandfather Clock http://www.rowanglassworks.org spring 2018