When my father died, I was a child. We
left the rake and the hose in the garage.
Today, I read about a woman who
dusty boxes in the attic of a house she inherited
remains of a cat, wrapped in newspapers, dating from
pet column, and had dozens of cats. City health officials,
removed the stacked boxes and cremated the remains. I
when he was born. After their death, he found their marriage
and understood why he had never been loved. His hands,
a separate part of him, the part that remained.
Copyright 2001, Lucille Gang Shulklapper
Lucille Gang Shulklapper is a workshop leader for the Council for Florida Libraries and The Center for the Book. Her fiction and poetry appear in publications such as The Art Times, Pocket Prose#1, Atrocity: Sig Mensa of the Absurd, and Slant. Her first book of poems, What You Cannot Have, is forthcoming from Flarestack Publishing.
Cat Remains are Found consists of couplets.