Tribute to Mystic
(5/1/98 - 1/9/09)

I've been staring at a spot where a box used to sit, neatly in the corner of the kitchen.
It was filled with all things formal and irrelevant:
Napkin rings that didn't go with our paper plate lifestyle
And China which we'd never used.
Despite the contents, the box was special
It was where my eye would naturally lead as I walked in the door
There I would always find my black-and-white fluff ball with green saucer eyes waiting for me
Speaking her elation to see me in high, squeaky monologue.
It was a place where she would prance and preen
Dancing in her way
It was a place where I would often sit and hunch over her, giving her love
All the love that I could, but less than she deserved.
After enduring relocation, torment, and fear,
It was a place where she was finally happy.

But now, that spot is empty, that box is gone
I cannot bear to cross the line of its former borders
As my delicate, endlessly-loving, un-graceful Mystic left us
I try to fight back the tears, the regret, the guilt, and the pain
Distracting myself with childish pursuits, I do my best to ignore the void
How suddenly our apartment feels less like home
I try to remember, as I lift the box that became her coffin
And I walk out the door
Forever leaving with the part of my heart that was my little baby girl
That she was happy there.