i would take schrodinger's cat out of the box.

i would carry it under my sweater

and i would lay it in a box in my apartment.

give it— or he or she—

what little food i had left.

take her into my bed

and hold him as i fall asleep.

 

perhaps he will lick my face every morning.

perhaps she will have kittens in a box in my closet, where it smells most like me.

perhaps he and she exist simultaneously,

parallel to each other, each their first and last lives—

perhaps he sniffed at a cat i could not see and she nuzzled in turn,

and perhaps this happened after she lay nursing her kittens,

or before she had even been born at all.

she simultaneously did and did not have kittens,

did and did not have an experience i would not be able to comprehend,

was and was not saved.

 

there is no deeper meaning to this. is it not enough, just to love?