She is very proud these days

More than ten we buried in the shade of the orange tree-
Ten cats in less than ten years, poisoned by the neighbors
Or crushed under cars. We wrapped them in towels
As we buried them. To keep them warm. To shield
Them from our eyes as the rusted shovel pierced
Through dirt and roots.

I think of them when I can't find a towel, when I stand
Over the bathroom tile and shiver as I dry, drop
By drop. I think of them at night when the tree taps
Against my window, and I imagine a strong wind ripping
Their bodies from the ground, and I wonder if it's their bones
I hear tapping against the glass.

If I meet them in heaven, I will lie down and let them
Crawl on top of me and around me, and stroke their chins
And bellies the way I used to individually, but now altogether,
A warm and purring blanket.

Some days I eat the oranges whole- peel, seeds, and fruit
And imagine kitten corpses decomposing in the soil,
Absorbing through roots and trunk and branches, into
The fruit I eat, into the juice that drips down my chin and sticks
Between my fingers. The fruit that slips down my throat
And stomach, that courses through my blood and fuels
my guilt.
(“The Orange Tree” by Alicia Adams)