It was this very river
Into which you were cast,
Wrapped up in your burial shroud,
The day you died
About a year ago.
If you are in heaven,
As you must surely be,
As were all cats,
Being pure of heart,
Ask God to bless the others at home
And heal them of their afflictions
If it pleases him
Or not
It it pleases him
To look the other way instead.
You were sorely missed,
My Eve,
My Yeva (Єва)*.
All I have left of you,
Apart from the photos and videos,
Were your children,
Calicoco-Jean, your daughter,
Oyen, her son,
Agape, your son,
And all your other grandchildren and great-grandchildren,
The ones that have survived.
I think it was Somalia,
Another son of yours,
Somalia, remember (?),
Whom I bumped into yesterday evening
As I made my way through the side lanes of the neighborhood,
Heading towards the main road,
Where I would begin my evening run.
It seemed to recognize me,
From the way it didn't run off as I approached it,
Calling it by name,
Somalia.
Not so skinny now either
Like it used to be,
Hence its name,
Somalia.
It was that Chinese broker lady's cat now,
Or one of them
For many cats she had,
In front as well in the back lane behind.
Agape used to give Somalia a hard time,
Both being boys and boy cats being boy cats,
Probably why it packed its bags and said goodbye.
I didn't know why I wanted to come here,
To this very spot,
But now that I'm here,
I do.
I should've died the day you died.
Eve, my Yeva ((Єва)*.
I've said it before and I'll say it again,
Eve, my Yeva ((Єва)*.
I should've died the day you died.
*Ukrainian for 'Eve'.
