Mend

If your cat was caught under
the wheels of a passing truck,
her stomach spilling and pooling red
onto the cold, cold cement

Would you say,
"Why won't she just be happy?
What's wrong with a little blood?
Let her mend herself."

No.

Why then, when you see us
struggling through the muck
of argument and bleeding despair
do you look at me and plead the same?

...

Forgot that I wrote a poem a day last April. I am going to try to do it again even though I'm a day behind already. Shrug.