People, I'm Fried. But I Am Participating in #EthicalELA's Open-Write September. So, A Poem or Two Have Birthed Themselves Into Existence.

Phew. Wedding weekend. Conference proposal uploaded. Lawn mowed. But I'm done. And It's Monday again, ugh. Anyway, here's a poem from Saturday - a memory poem, in which I tried to channel my first dog, Dusty. This is part of EthicalELA's weekend prompts...this one, written between church vows and reception while letting Jake out and having nothing else to do in a suit and tie....all dressed up and no place to go...for a couple of hours, that is.

Dusty

the first of many best friends

On the bottom of the stairs

he tried lifting a body

with one leg working,

wanting to greet us,

with afternoon licks 

he offered as snacks - 

the perfect hello for school buses

before watching Gilligan’s Island.

I smell his puppy-breath

and the linoleum floor of Clarks Mills, 

where we’d curl beside him,

holding his tiny paws in our hands…

the night we brought him home,

we slept in the kitchen .

At the lake, he’d chase 

boats because they were rabbits - 

he’d spring along the shoreline,

running in the wake of skiers

and waves, until he wore the padding

of his paws into cotton candy.

In summer,

we’d played Jaws

on the 2nd floor 

with our mom’s green afghan 

as a fishing net,

entangling fingers through crochet - 

knowing tail & teeth

could get us

as we hummed

theme music 

from our parent’s bed.

They told me it was lipstick,

his red excitement

that curled forward

between his legs

as we rode 

the station wagon.

I’d watch my mother 

apply her own

in the mirror,

wiping stains

from her teeth,

always bewildered by

sex

& all I 

had to learn.

When dad said it was time,

I was the one who 

stood at his side,

offering him strength.

My sisters pleaded.

My mother cried,

And I looked at

my father with awe,

admiring what

it takes 

to end

the suffering.