–for Sophie, one of Bast’s priestesses 

I’ve followed her as far as I can go,

to the edges of Elysium
through these asphodel fields,

the threshold between
after and immediately before eternity,

the place where I will have to let her
walk the rest alone,

her pawsteps soft
and confident like they always were,

little cat with goddess blood,
a tiger’s spirit in her heart.

I know
she’s not afraid:

she’s walked this path
eight times before

whereas I will only walk it once,
a foolish human cursed to be forever
startled and scared by silent shadows

and the countless other spirits slowly
making their way to the other side.

She knows
the journey well by now,

the dips in the valleys ahead,
the best places to rest beneath bony trees,

usually finding women and children
to follow til she makes it to the river’s edge
where she can start her life over anew.

(The ferrymen grant her free passage
every time, since animals don’t pay tolls
the way humans do.)

As we stand together
in the perpetual sunset

she lifts her little nose
to gather auguries in the wind–

something is different this time,
the sound of thunder rolling in the distance,

the storm-rush of some great goddess
striding slowly towards us through the empty fields,

a warrior’s purr rumbling like an earthquake
beneath our feet:

Bast, the great cat mother, has crossed continents
to lead her home,

her eyes bright with the strength
of a thousand suns,

golden tail weaving
patiently among the grass.

It’s time now–

I know I’ve followed her as far as I can go,
my skin growing cold from the breath
of the coming rain.

My little cat looks back at me once,
blinking slowly,

before she follows the great Mother
into the thickening asphodel,

climbing higher,
one step at a time, towards the velvet of heaven,

their pawsteps quick and quiet
among the stars,

loose ones falling and tumbling
brightly in their wake.

As I watch her climb,
I pray that Mother Bast holds her tight,

and as I begin my own slow journey earthside
a fresh crescent moon smiles down at me

like a whisker imprinted in the sky.

---

Clarabelle Miray Fields is a Rhysling-nominated, award-winning speculative writer from Boulder, Colorado, who writes about feminism, scifi, ancient myth, and the many spaces in between. She currently serves as editor for Carmina Magazine, a publication dedicated to modern mythmaking. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys cold nights, dark skies, and dark coffee. Connect with her on Instagram @cfieldswriting or at https://clarabellefields.com.