Literary Yard

Search for meaning


By: Arthur Heifetz


Caring hands

In your hands, the fuchsia,
which had never lasted,
survived the winter
and bloomed again in spring.
At the first sign of frost,
you took them in and placed them
in a warm spot by the window,
caring for them daily.
Just as you’d brought me in
and sustained me through
a dark part of my life.
Just as you’d sheltered from the storm
a Maine Coon cat
who showed up at our door
like a hefty matron in a thick fur coat.
You called her “Misty” for “mysterious”
and in the shrieking night
she birthed five healthy kittens
in the upstairs bathroom,
who you named Bello, Cloud,
Neblina, Asteroid, and Spunky.
There was so much blood
I thought at first that tiny rats
were gnawing at her stomach,
but you knew better.
You stroked the mother
with your willowy fingers
and smiled at the thought
of all that new life.



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