After Lam Doy Died

After Lam Doy Died

When you outran the average lifespan
Of Siamese, your final resting spot
Was carefully considered, faithfully
Cribbed in the garden where impatient death
Meets optimism, slides in morning sun
Like a clean spoon refreshing your food bowl.
You kept me company for twenty years.
Now tulips take the springtime shift, red fire
Bathing your bones.  Perennials assume
The summer stretch, self-seeding daylilies,
Bright orange flames reminding you of naps
By the brick hearth, furred belly sunflowered
With warmth. Cold winter weeks are mine to take,
Soft footsteps petting frozen ground, feline
Morse code that telegraphs what’s loved plants roots.

The author's bluepoint Siamese cat Lam Doy had a Chinese name that meant “little boy blue.”

LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Photo: Felix Mittermeier on Unsplash

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