the dog is acting weird
I worked until a later
time than normal, and since
the end of the shift, I’ve been
trying to figure out this
different behavior.
I’ve cleaned her ears, rubbed her
belly, gave her kisses & crushed ice,
and she’s still being . . . weird.
every other day, something new
is happening. a senior dog
and her aging status is
frightening me.
it’s only Tuesday.
there’s still the rest of
this week to get through.
will we make it?
aging in the year of dying
the dog is going blind
to her, as I fade into the
darkness of our hallway, I’m
a blot–an image she isn’t
sure is me
she’s smart–she waits
in the living room where light
lingers and only moves
when she sees me re-emerge
from the belly of
our home
I step back into her view
with a smile on my face
and greet her as If I
haven’t seen her before
I know what it feels like
to see something clearly
again
when the chill hits at
just the right moment,
I cuddle up with my
old lady, sip on some
peppermint brew, and watch
my favorite animated Christmas
movies.
the crisp air outside can
stay bolted to the night–I’ll
find warmth nestling under
her love.
the phone bleeps, and it’s you.
your dimpled face appears,
and you tell me about something
that had you balled-over from
laughter, and the only thing
I can think of is how
amazing it would be
to be under or over
you, instead.
I lean back, sink into
the pressing of my chair,
and dream of a place where
Christmas lies on your lips
and I am opening you
as my gift, instead.
A Cornered Gurl 
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