The Cat That Cried Dead Kittens

so sure was I that I rolled the big rocks
away, pushing them deeper into the snow so
I might see. I waited
this night for the moans, the agony of the wild
beast patrolling the backyard each full moon,
a cat like no other mother, not concealing the depth
of sadness, the voice howling with pain, carrying her dead kittens
though the yard and past the creek,
each step locked in icy snow, no problem to track
the morbid cargo down through thick thistles, their summer
brightness grayed by winds near zero, the beast raking its belly
in painful petulance, with all her mother’s zeal
confounded by hunger, tears and babies
who would not wake even as she kissed
their fur and loved their little toes.