Just beyond the door between
\nthe house and cellar landing he lies,
\npaws folded, not a hair disturbed.
\nHe almost could be sleeping if
\nsleep could ever be so empty.<\/p>\n
Probably he was a last presentation
\nfrom the cats now gone from cold Chocorua
\nto their winter home. There was no malice
\nin my cats\u2019 needless play and I cannot
\nchange their nature nor the nature
\nof the mouse nor my own that mourns
\nanother tiny rent in the fabric of the world.<\/p>\n
So alone in his little death.
\nDoes his clan sheltering
\nin the cellar\u2019s chill corners notice his
\nlong absence? Does even a tremor
\nof loss trouble their quietude or is he
\nsimply fixed forever in their eternal now?<\/p>\n
They say death is the body\u2019s passage
\nfrom something, to less, to nothing at all
\nbut I think it is a thing with wings.
\nMurmuring a brief appeal to the petty
\ngod who oversees such minute sparks of life
\nto bless him on his way, I toss him
\nover the railing of my deck. He soars,
\nfor a moment not earthbound,
\nthen falls into the snow, reclaimed,
\nto become a meal, and thus reborn.<\/p>\n
— Peaco Todd<\/p>\n
3rd place, Poems of NH Contest<\/em><\/strong> Just beyond the door between the house and cellar landing he lies, paws folded, not a hair disturbed. He almost[…]<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":462,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"spay_email":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-472","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\n
\nOn and Off the Road:<\/strong>
\nPoems of New Hampshire, 2019<\/strong>
\nPeterborough Poetry Project<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"