The Cat...

I try and practice presence.

Stay here. Stay here.  

Don't go back there...

But with each sip racing me to the bottom of the teacup, 

my thoughts run to last night.

The red velvet pillows lounging against the back of the chairs

too casually for the conversation.

The lace curtains oblivious

and the kitchen aromas teasing me.

The wine, earthen and oaky, infused with bright valley air and deep soil. 

The oysters we would have eaten were steamed with herbs and soaked in butter.

 This is on my mind. This is on the tip of my tongue. Not this.

I remember him only in snapshots.

He was nervous, he said.

I was too strong, he said.

He always said that.   

 He took the record collection.

 I kept the cat.

Soon enough, the only thing I'll remember

are snapshots.

He was nervous. And I am strong.

I have to remember to feed that cat

and put on some red shoes.

Red shoes are good for dancing.