Coming Home

When her cat appeared, after
its long month's absence - her
small snowy lion; his
beauty in the window
re-kindled a heart
that had shrunk to dying.

She eased the blue latch
to let him in, and entered
with him, such a rush
of clean, resinous air,
that November presented
itself as Spring.

She lay down milk and meat
and the kitchen resonated
with his gratitude, and hers.
Life resurrected itself, stood
suddenly straight and tall –
to a backdrop of laps and purrs.

Umbrella Head​