More poems for Maxie
For Maxie, my baby girl
I want you to leave, if you want to leave. I want you to stay, if you want to stay. I want to know what you want, but I cannot say. I want you to be free. To be peaceful. To be happy, and yet you hide, and when I sit myself beside you, you run away. If you want to be here, you have to take your meds. I know you hate it. I hate it too. You struggle, and I feel like a torturer. How do you do what’s best if you don’t know what that looks like? My dad gave me to my aunt and split. He thought that would be best for me. I thought he didn’t love me, and felt abandoned. Best is relative.
Max nibbles and looks a little hopeful, then falls into a deep trance. I stroke her soft head and tell her it’s ok. Her mama loves her. I don’t sleep well (i came down at 2 and rolled Romaine for her). I don’t care much if I eat. My heart hurts, and I can’t even remember when I refused to feel my feelings, but I do see why now. You have to be very wise, to have compassion. You have to be very strong, to keep the door to your heart open. You have to be very brave indeed, to keep on when you so want to turn back. To give, when there’s nothing left to give, you have to believe in miracles.
LBM 11/13/16 (she won’t eat the lettuce unless i form it into bite size balls, like snasauges, lolol).
Up Above the World So High
Maxie had an appointment with death. I gave her a window, a peacefully at home option which I was gunning for but alas, it didn’t happen peacefully. Her blood pressure was low, they had trouble with the catheter. The poor sweet girl, went through all of that without me. Ten years later, they brought her back, and I held her while they stopped her heart. While she was getting her catheter, I watched the fish in the aquarium. One liked to sit in the middle of the jet of bubbles, and wouldn’t let the other one come in. Bully fish. Fascinating. Tiny as my pinkie finger. I would have laughed if I’d been in the mood to laugh.
I laid my hand on Maxie’s soft warm body, all the way home, though my arm had a crick in it from the position (I gave up on the cat carrier, years ago. Put her in a big plastic tub, lined with sheets and blankies and her baby, who she peed on (all day long, she didn’t pee). The vet said if Maxie was her rabbit, she would do as I was doing. We talked a bit and there was no magic offered. I didn’t think there would be, but you never know, and I was open to a miracle.
I buried her with Doodle, under the huge pot of Willow. Doug would have done it for me but I needed to. She was so soft and supple. It seemed incongruous somehow, my sweet beauty in the harsh hole (I did remove the larger rocks). When Scotty was little, we sang “Twinkle Twinkle” when we buried our beloveds. And I do, still, and cry almost immediately.
When I came home, I snipped a piece of Oregano and chewed on it (Maxie’s favorite, and growing crazy this year), and drank her tea cup full of water. It feels strange to not be making a rabbit salad. I will eat the Spring Mix Maxie enjoyed, and every banana will remind me of her. The kitchen floor is squeaky clean but it’s too deathly quiet, and I would gladly have the pee poo hay mess back, if only I could have another evening with my baby girl. If only I could push my face into her soft sweet fur and kiss her silky ears and tell her how much I love her. Twinkle, Twinkle, beloved diamond star.
LBM 5/30/2019
