The other cat

The first few weeks that Cisco came to live with us

He lived exclusively either below or on top of

My bed

An obstinate kind of forlornness

A matted furball of deadweight

When sighted, peripherally, in a furtive movement

Shaky and arthritic on his feet

But should someone try to move him

A powerhouse of muscle fibers

Frozen to his one safe space

Slowly

Like ice melting on Neptune

His body released

He ventured out

Bedroom door

Couch

Window ledge

And just the other day

I spotted him

A few steps toward the great outdoors

Looking boldly on the backyard

And now when the other cat

Gives him kisses

He seems only reasonably annoyed

Instead of petrified

It’s like this with me—

—like Cisco in his new home—

The sadness an insistent visitor

A cavernous heaviness

The air thick and musty with self doubt

And annihilation

I reek with the stench of it

Cotton tongued and word empty

I could sleep in this bed for a century

Or crawl down under it

Claw the ground for dear life

For despite life

When I say that I get the depression

The way that other people get the flu

It is only because I do not know how else to say it

And it’s not that the fog lifts

Not really at least

And its not that I just

Shake it off

I do not put my foot down

Nor do I

Get

Over

It

Instead

It’s like this

Like Cisco one step closer to fresh air

A sustained intimacy

With the aching internal grip

And the inevitable slow release

The clarity of one sweet breath