his mother doesn't want to get any more cats, she thinks it's too sad

he spends his time looking for dead animals.
in the woods behind his house.
once when he was little he found a bird.
it was late in the afternoon and the
sun still hadn't come out.
he'd never seen one up close before.
a dead body. a bird.
he poked at it with a twig.
crouched there beside it.
he picked it up in his hands and held
it against his chest until he could see
the bird move quietly with his heartbeat.
he wondered if it was alive again.
he didn't understand. it takes more
than a heartbeat to make something alive.
he put it down and stood there for a while.
"jordan? jordan!" he didn't understand.
why did he have to leave?
there wasn't anything more important than
standing here. holding his twig.
staring.

he still looks for dead animals.
in the woods behind his house.
a mouse maybe or a leopard frog
to hold up to his heart.
his hands become the same color
as its skin. nothing mourns.
there's nothing more important than
pretending it's alive again.