by Sara Backer
the house died with Tiger Lily,
the one who inhabited
space we merely lived in
she experienced with experiments
how carpet fiber tastes, how books pull
off shelves, how sun moves from sofa to chair
details of every room she measured
coded into her pink paws
we are deaf without mao-mrrow
we sleep without between us
we occupy an impersonal container
a storage shed with no surprises
proud neck arched, she would show off
her mice whose turds now desecrate her floor
Published in Eunoia Review