When he cannot sleep, he counts the cats chasing invisible grasshoppers across the ceiling. Some nights, one might pause, beryl eyes luminous, and leap down onto his bed. Tonight, a fine-boned grey, soft and silent as fog, lands lightly, curls against his hip. As Emily had for so many years.
Mary Rohrer-Dann writes narrative poetry and flash fiction and publishes in a variety of venues.
Purple used to do that!
You “nailed” the twist at the end, Mary. It tugged at my heart. Well done!
Many thanks!
Beautiful in every syllable!
Thanks so much for your response!