10-Fuzzy Gray Thing

If hope is the thing with feathers,

perhaps sadness is the fuzzy gray thing

brushing against my legs,

under the table,

crossing the threshold.

I thought it was the cat,

but one day suspected

it was just my sadness

come to visit for a while.

I catch a glimpse of it

now and then

with the corner of my eye.

It nonchalantly

lets me know it’s here,

not frightening, not asking,

just here,

as if

to remind me

of when

you’re not.

I thought my mind was playing tricks on me,

but then you, only you, saw it, too.

And that was when

I knew for sure

that the fuzzy gray thing

was our sadness.