The memory still stings, a dull ache in my heart years later. I can picture the kitten so clearly: a tiny ball of fluff on the path I walked, the plaintive meows clearly audible over the city’s hum. I assumed instantly it was abandoned, too young to be alone. My first instinct was to scoop it up, to offer warmth and safety, but practicality, that cruel mistress, intervened. My apartment building was a mile away and I had no means of transporting the kitten. I left it with a a promise to return. However, upon my return the little kitten was no where to be found.

Now, years on, I often wonder about that little ball of fur …

---

A patch of night, a tiny plea,
Shivering where the grey met ground.
A little black kitten looked at me,

With hopeful eyes, without a sound
Except the purr, a tiny motor,
Attempting to be my savator.

It rubbed against my leg, so small,
A desperate bid for warmth and home.
My heart ached, felt it all,
But circumstance left me to roam
Away from that soft, fragile plea,
I couldn't take you home with me.

The reasons felt like walls, like stone,
Though leaving felt like a mistake.
I walked away, utterly alone
In my regret, for goodness sake.
I told myself, "I'll come back soon,
Perhaps beneath another moon."

But life spun on, a hurried pace,
And guilt gnawed at me, day by day.
I carved the time, returned to trace
The steps I'd walked, the path, the way
Where hope in tiny form had curled,
Abandoned to the waiting world.

The corner was just empty space,
Just litter where the shadow lay.
No tiny form, no pleading face,
Silence where there was a soft dismay.
My heart sank low, a leaden weight,
Had I returned a day too late?

Oh, little ghost, where did you go?
What happened when I turned and left?
Did a kind stranger see you, though?
By love, by safety, were you blest?
Did someone scoop your need right up,
And fill your empty, hungry cup?

Perhaps you found a hidden den,
Or reconnected with your kin?
Or did the dangers, now and then,
That stalk the streets, just let them in?
The traffic's roar, the hungry night,
Did they extinguish your small light?

I search each shadow, strain my ear,
For sound that might have brought you near.
The space you left is hollow here,
Filled up with worry and with fear.
A tiny life I couldn't hold,
A story lost, yet to unfold...
Or tragically, already told
In silence, by the pavement cold.

                       (c) Wayne Becker