It is a solemn affair,
As I take a knife to Grandmother’s hair,
One little lock
Dark and silvery,
Which sits beside my own,
Between the paws of a cardboard box.

It is a solemn affair,
As Joshua takes up the spade,
A hole is dug amongst the trees,
Where roots crawl through the soil,
In the hopes of putting an end
To the funeral.

It is a solemn affair,
As Grandmother weeps,
Running her shaky fingers,
Over soft as velvet furr.
In the wake of her hands
Are cedar twigs and flowers.

It is a solemn affair,
As my hands reach for fresh brown earth, 
Cold, but not as cold as my pink tipped fingers.
Every handful helps the ground to close her lips,
Finally swallowing that cardboard box, 
The headstone is our final kiss.

It is a solemn affair, 
As Grandmother weeps about my shoulders.
She forgets her coat,
Her gloves,
Her hat,
For today we have buried
Her cat.

It is a solemn affair,
The final goodbye of every last dainty paw,
Of her round face, 
And gentle claws,
Her raccoon striped tail.

It is a solemn affair,
For her warm sleeping body
Now sleeps cold.