The New Relationship

The New Relationship

My girlfriend is presently sleeping –

my new girlfriend, who only moved in

four days ago – lying on her side,

one paw tucked under her head.

She senses I’m writing about her, feels

my attention, my focus; opens one lazy eye

at me, closes it again next moment

and hunkers comfortably down.

I give thanks that this new relationship

embarked on with hope and trepidation

is already going so smoothly. I offer up

silent, fervent prayers of deep relief.

The first two days went well. Yesterday

she went off her food, prowled the house

searching, I’m certain, for someone 

who won’t be back: her favourite person

mutually adored. He wouldn’t have left her

if he’d had any choice. He scooped her up,

tiny in his great hands, for a quick 

last cuddle and kiss. ‘Take care of her for me.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

Last night I gave her soothing Reiki

and told her too, telepathically,

I’d do my very best. This morning

for the first time I lifted her up myself

in a shoulder hug, crooning my love

into her nine-year-old deaf ears that can still

feel vibrations. I saw she’d eaten hearty.

It’s different (I found out last time)

when you don’t raise them from kittens.

Not your fur-child but your house-mate –

or so it was with regal Selene.

My last girlfriend started difficult,

progressed to stand-offish, always 

had boundaries even when we arrived

at fiercely intense mutual devotion.

I never thought I’d get over her.

But two years later – years of grief –

a hint of loneliness arose, coinciding

perfectly with someone else’s need.

Living entirely for oneself, that freedom

eventually palls.  My new girlfriend

curls on her blanket, ears still alert,

willing to explore our new adventure.

A retelling in verse of the tale I told in prose a few days ago.

Shared (five days later) with Poets and Storytellers United's Writers' Pantry #62.