I feel her warmth against my back,
settled along the top of the couch,
hear the popping of the fabric
and turn to catch her red-pawed.
She is there in my dreams
whispering that it will be all right.
Climbs the hill of my hips,
settling there like the blanket
I had when I was seven.
Mornings find her pressed to my side
stretched out with paws against the pillows.
Always there when I cry,
awakening to a human loneliness
that haunts my dreams,
keeps me up all night.
And she is there.
Witness to blow-ups and outs,
seeing in her golden wheat-colored eyes
what I have sought to see in his.
© Johanna Fugitt 2017