The stray cat had her kittens at the end of the week
in the old doghouse left behind the front shrubs.
My son asked to hold and pet them,
but I told him it was best to not disturb them
when still so young,
that nature had a way of caring for its own.
But what desires does time change,
what desires does it make small and forgotten?
I had seen the old tom lurking around the house,
had hoped his ancient instincts had been dulled by age,
had hoped that maybe his presence was fatherly, kind,
that maybe there existed something akin to love,
that maybe they had been his,
but I was wrong and now must bury such notions
in this smallest of graves.
These are the moments life gives us,
a moment for me to hold my son a little longer
before he learns how to stand outside the circle of my arms,
a moment for him to learn life is a hard kind of work,
putting dirt under our nails.