Healing in the place of hurt

I am a 

cat lying 

in a garden, 

basking in the sunlight

I so deeply need. 

Sticky tongue through fur,

cleaning my self from the day 

before

Somehow unaware, 

or 

uncaring 

of the 

soil 

I’m rolling in, 

desperately trying 

to keep myself clean. 

Maybe it’s more of the ritual that I crave, 

feeding the instinct to purify 

In spite of circumstance, 

As a conscious form of upkeep, 

or rebellion, 

or something much more primitive.

To fix while I break

to mend while my stitching comes undone 

to medicate through my nausea, 

to heal in the place

I was hurt

to bathe while playing in dirt.