Between Bruises and Blooms

She flinches
before my hand
has even reached her.

Not because I’ve ever hurt her—

because someone else did.

Love,
to her,
is still something
she watches carefully.

So I wait.

I let her choose
when to climb beside me.

I celebrate
every quiet purr
like it’s the beginning
of a language
she thought she’d forgotten.

Healing
isn’t always loud.

Sometimes
it’s a frightened cat
finally deciding

this lap
is safe.