Poetry, Grades 10-12: First Place

Our Senile Cat— Pheobe Eisenbeis

Our senile cat died in the summer,
We buried her by the compost
With the cucumber peelings and eggshells from breakfast.
When I take baths I see her
By the radiator,
Sedated by the warmth.
I remember
Sitting under the pussy willow tree with her gaunt body,
Sun patches playing on what was left of her.
I could see the life leaving,
Breath slowing.
She was young again,
Didn’t know how to see or feel,
Didn’t know my scent any longer.