Edward Lees
Transformations
Foxes ghosted, but what was the point
for our cat without the wideness of life?
So out she went,
until bitten and paralysis slowly set in.
At first it was just a stuttered walk,
which we hoped would pass.
She managed the steps for a while,
but they grew in time.
Later, when she couldn’t move at all,
she came to us through sound,
insistently, like when she was young
and a closed door
separated her from food.
She looked at me in a way
that asked if I could be a bridge
to what she was before,
that I was her great hope.
But what could anyone do?
My father’s gaze in comparison is vacant,
perhaps realizing that memory
is the best way back,
or just that he has seen enough.
It is partly the Parkinson’s I guess.
We used to play catch in our garden.
He gave me my first baseball glove,
helped me to break it in.
Now he might not walk, or call
out to the past with talk,
but I can still feel
the momentum of that day,
throwing back and forth,
as he taught torque, rhythm,
and how it all fit together.
Edward Lees is an American who lives in London. During the day he works to help the environment and in the evenings he writes poetry. His works have been accepted for publication in various journals including Southern Humanities Review, Moonpark Review, Amethyst Review, and Anthropocene Poetry Journal.
