Comfortable

There’s a tiny black cat
Thousands pass close as
in the middle of the road
She lies in state
comfortable

Look into her wide
sleeping eyes
You’ll glimpse in a flicker
the kitten in the lies

I left a chair
on the front porch in the sun
and a screwed up ball of yarn
in case her ghost came back home

Or maybe
just my memory
of whiskers and a tail
straight as nails

In a year or three
or maybe a day, we’ll see
it could be me
beneath a tiny black tree
comfortable