and now this.

They’re kittens, really.

A momma cat wandered up,

had them here,

then one day

just didn’t come back.

A momma don’t often

leave her babies,

Momma said to me and

Lizzie

when this happened.

Now, these babies?

They cry out to me before they die.

One by one.

The whole

litter almost gone.

I use an old rake

to pick the dead cats up

and sling their weight

far from me.

It is hot,

last days of May hot,

the air so heavy

breathing

is like drinking,

just about.

Don’t

think

about

any

of

it.

All at once

I am mad at Liz!

White-hot

mad!

Why did you do it?

I yell at her,

clenching my fists

so tight

and looking toward where the bodies

are hidden

in the high grasses

on the far

side of the

fence.

Why did you

try to leave me,

Liz?

I’m on my knees,

shovel

beside me.

All these babies

dying

and I don’t know why.

Just like with

my Lizzie.

I don’t know

why.

32.

In the morning

two kittens are left.

The small black and white one

will be the next to go.

I know.

I can tell.

It lays on its side

near the kitchen door.

I crouch close,

pushing my hair

behind one ear

when it falls in my face.

Little one,

I say.

And I think,

Not a thing I can do for you.

(Like Liz.)

There’s a place

in my heart that

I make thick

when I look at this

baby.

My old heart,

feeling fifty.

Feeling a hundred and fifty.

Or a million and fifty.

Lizzie,

Lizzie,

Lizzie

runs through my head.

Throw ’em

over the fence

once they’re dead,

Momma said,

wiping tears

from her cheeks,

when I told her

they were all dying.

Don’t pester me no more.

They’re strays. And

I got me a friend

coming by.

I need time to get ready.

Fixing herself up all shiny,

all pretty,

wiping at the

tears.

I could see

lots of her there in the

mirrors.

My momma

so pretty.

I got me a friend coming over

and

I don’t want no trouble

from you.

Hightail it outta here.

So I watch

that black and white kitten

knowing

I will have to throw

another body into

the high weeds.

Lizzie,

Lizzie,

Lizzie,

I say.

I sit outside on the

concrete steps

thinking of my sister

and all these kittens,

gone.

33.

Late that afternoon,

when the last

kitten is dead,

I bike my way to Mari’s house.

I am hollow inside

from it all.

Look at this camera,

Mari says, when I walk

in her room,

clicking my picture before

I even have a chance

to smile.

My father bought it

for me.

She snaps another picture and

another

and one more.

And I almost

forget

every

awful

thing

in

my

life.

Stop it!

I want to say, but

I’m laughing.

We can do something

with these,

she says.

Maybe I can blackmail