To me, this poem is about transience - both the transience of life, and of memory. The way the cat seems to dissolve back into the earth- returning to the womb which birthed it - reminds me of going to mass on Ash Wednesday; the priest spreads ashes across your brow as a reminder that ”you are dust, and to dust you shall return”. In the end, not even the memory of us will live forever, like the animals in the cave paintings that Purpura describes, whose names we have forgotten. Despite some of the more shocking imagery (particularly the image of the animal’s eyes burning away), this idea of the earth taking back what it has given isn't inherently morbid. I don't think it is meant to scare or disgust, but not to comfort either; it just is. It’s a reflection on the reality of death, and how, like those animals in the cave, we too will eventually fade. Just like September, which teeters between abundant summer and autumn’s fading chill, all living things walk a line between life and death.
I really enjoyed reading your interpretation of this piece Olivia! The tie that you made to the Ash Wednesday service was incredibly interesting, and I completely forgot that the priest says that when you receive your ashes. There is this feeling that you live on earth and you then you give back to the earth. Nothing lasts, especially names and people, but the earth continues to move on. As you said, this isn't really a comfort or something to worry over. It just is.
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