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Dead Ferret

Dead Ferret

Dead Ferret by Suzy Miller

White fur, not much blood, guts eking through the gaping wound

An eye that will not close on life that has already fled

His body curves in my daughter’s trembling arms, spooned,

No sound or breath or blink.  The ferret is dead.

Only two weeks from the pet rescue, his musty stench still lingers like a spirit flowing

Why is there such a sense of loss for a creature we hardly knew?

It is as if the numbness, the aching, comes from a deeper knowing

That the being itself is not gone at all but formless, glistening on the edges of our minds like some etheric dew

How can we truly miss a body, a form

When each day lived ‘in the now’ we’d feel no pain to be apart for one hour, two, or three?

Pretended our loved ones gone were merely out to lunch, and not from our world cruelly torn?

Yet there lingers now that sense that they are with us still, within us.  They will not let us free.

What if the lingering longing for them is not because they have gone away?

Yes we miss their smile, their laughter, their caress

But what if it is only when the outer form returns to clay

That it is then we sense they are in fact still here, so no need to feel bereft?

What if that hurt inside were in truth, simply a longing to be complete

A yearning for connection, a holy pact

If we are more than flesh, with souls that cannot simply self-delete

Then surely my sadness is just an awakening to a simple fact

When you and I lie without a breath

Others will feel our presence stronger than death

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