Now the dead girl’s cat needs a new home
She shouldn’t have left the oven on
Like she always did
To keep the kitchen warm
Now she’s in an urn
And the cat’s fur is singed
It smells of burnt skin and crispy pizza
But still carries around the burden of her perfume
It stares at the people passing by
On the windowsill of an overcooked home
I wonder if I should give it a bath
Or just toss it out with the pizza’s remains
But then I think about how she would curl her fingers
Around its scorched fur
When her home wasn’t on top of a fireplace
And her skin and bones weren’t ash
Now all I have is a dead girl’s cat
That stares out the window
Its tail wishing for a normal home
And not this burnt grave
