Distemper Poem by r james sterzinger

in the mow they lived their short little lives
born six in a litter
within a week
there would only be one or two.

what didn't fall and died of broken neck
were plagued with distemper

we kids would climb in the mow
(we weren't suppose to)
and we'd move the moldy bales
of straw and old hay
out of the way
dig out the survivors
of the first wave

then we would take
our mother's wash cloth
and slowly wipe away the brown green glue
that pasted their new eyes shut
we would pry their eyes open
and line them up for lunch
on their mother's belly

within a few days
they were all dead
we would bury them
out behind the old milk house
near the fence of rusty barbed wire
careful not to touch the fence
because it was electric and rusty
and the fear of tetanus was implanted into
our heads by our mum.

there was a lot of fears in those days
measles, whooping cough
drowning in the creek
at the back twenty acres

even the ladder to the mow
had two bad steps
we had to be careful...

we took care of those kittens
till each last one died
buried as many as we could find
before dad could

he was less sentimental
he would take them to the dump instead.

crosses of sticks covered the area
behind the barn
do unbaptized kittens go to limbo?
well, limbo's gone
so God only knows where they are now.

we gave them a Christian burial though
turned the mow into a sad little hospice
learned that life is short
and the best way to live it
is with eyes open
and to die facing it
the same way

we learned it
accepted it
grew from it

now the barn is gone
the mow, the hay, the cats.
parents are gone too
buried in St. Mary's Cemetery
west of town

we brothers and sisters
still call each other infrequently
talk about Christmas past
the kids and the grand kids
send each other
birthday and Christmas cards
but only I remember the dead kittens
they God haunt me
and there sad little lives
curl up cozily
between the darkness of my poems
and the memories
I shouldn't lay hold of
anymore.