Stray

I caught a glimpse of her through her kitchen window,

As I walked by with my dog on a leash.

I saw her, staring off,

Chewing her peanut butter toast,

Sipping yesterday’s coffee.

She looked like she wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there,

But had resigned herself to staying.

Maybe I should have just let her be.

Here she was in a place I’d probably overstated,

Trying her best to tether herself,
With her dishes and pictures from before,

Finding comfort in keepsakes,

Waiting for small birds to visit the feeder I’d attached to the glass.

Each day I hope

Small new and colorful additions

Will make this be home.

But each box opened from her past evokes a sigh.

Where will these things possibly fit?

Was I wrong to imagine this place would be right?

Did I need to be right?

I am sorry for my selfishness,

For bringing her like a small creature I’d found

And kept in my closet,

Hoping I could keep her.

I will make a bed of moss and leaves,

And I’ll poke holes through the lid

With a nail.