December 9, 2025

all there is

Breakfast soon.
Then the good stuff, later, out of the can.
Salmon, if we’re lucky.
The litter box could use some attention.
We know, we know. That pink scoop is a bear.
It’s not been the same since March.
The big white chair downstairs looks empty, even if it’s not.
Some nights, she gets so quiet there, hands flat on her lap.
Is this what they call sadness?
Remember the first weeks, everything so new?
How we disappeared under the couch.
How wild and loud it all was.
That summer with Kate and her dog.
Whoever all those other people were.
Sometimes the little red light dances on a wall and brings us back.
Or midnight.
Obviously, the sound of the treat bag opening.
A creaking in the roof.
Snow.
Maybe this is all there is.
This is all there is.
At night, when she’s sleeping, everything feels as safe as it will ever get.
That place by her feet in the exact shape of us.