Kittens came to my dear sister
by chance, given away too soon,
but luck was with them.
They were two kitten sisters
come to live in a new home
with a tiny room of their own
and loving arms that knew sisterhood
My sister knew its glories,
puzzling tangles of emotion,
and hidden barbed corners threatening
to trap hearts like the depths
of an angry sea.
But what she knew most
was sisterhood’s nurturing ways,
imbuing the care of her new charges
with all the love in her heart.
She took the time to know each one,
keep them warm, wash them when
their paws and faces dripped with formula,
and patiently wait as they learned better.
Sis watched with glee as they explored
as their boundaries grew
and every curiosity called.
My sister’s tiny kittens
found joy in pillows and toys,
places to climb and fall
with their barely open eyes and
an absence of fear.
They thrived for many years,
one cat a quiet observer, silky dark gray
with warm sandy bits, the other
deep wispy gray with searching eyes
and an always inquisitive hello.
Sis remembers her intrepid gray friend
in phantom moments when shadows
and an old building’s creaks
mimic the things her paws got up to
before she became so sick, before
her dear spirit left this life too soon.
Her quiet sibling feels her in these shadows, too,
and my sister sees her remember
that they, like she and I
no matter what happens,
will always be sisters.