Saturday, November 28, 2009

Caring is creepy...

It's a luscious mix of words and tricks
That let us bet when you know we should've folded
On rocks I dreamt of where we'd stepped
And the whole mess of roads we're now on


Sunday, November 22, 2009


After years of begging Dad, we finally convinced him to get a dog. We went down to the shelter on Mom's birthday; all of the dogs were barking and jumping, but you were calmly laying there. You had been abused, they said, and I never understood how anyone could hurt you. We brought you home. I thought you were ugly at first, but you weren't. You were perfect.

You followed me everywhere. You slept in my bed, you waited outside the bathroom when I showered, and you paced around my bedroom on the nights I never came home. Whenever I cried, you'd paw at my hands as if to say "Pet me! It will be okay. I'm here." You loved going for long drives. We had some good ones, didn't we? People adored you at stop lights, because you'd sit there so contently and observe the world.

Whenever I brought boys over, you'd bark and bark and bark. You hated them. And you were right to hate them! I should have listened to you. Remember over the summer, when I had that party? You wouldn't stop barking, so we tried to put you upstairs, but you wouldn't move. We had roughly 20 drunken people crammed in the hallway in an attempt to get you to come up with us. But you never came! Hahaha.

But lately, you wouldn't eat. We tried feeding you ham and rice and chicken- nothing appealed to you. You would lay outside and bask in the November sunlight, barely responsive and so, so weak. Mom was afraid to bring you to the vet; she didn't want to hear what they might say. Last night, we cuddled in my bed. Your breathing was erratic and irregular, and I knew that something was terribly wrong.

This afternoon, I got ready for work. You slowly followed me up the stairs one last time and waited in my room for me to finish. I hugged you and kissed you. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. You wouldn't get up when we called you to come out to the car. It was like you knew, somehow. They brought you to the vet while I was at work. After running a bunch of tests, they found out you were full of cancer. Mom and Dad and CJ stayed with you and stroked you while you were put to sleep. They told you they loved you, that I loved you, that you would not suffer anymore. Please know that you were my best friend, and that I will always love and miss you.

RIP, sweetheart.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

One, through, three

The man with the secret:
I look out the window
to the place on the
driveway where
we sat and your eyes were
brimming with acceptance
so much, too much
that you don't consider me
false only because
you never did

The man with the apple:
your lolling metaphors
do not make me ill
and the disillusions we
feast upon
are enough to murder
the indolence of
a common mind
and I tell you I need
and you nod from your
windowless buildings
will your head fall off?

The man with the sounds:
the question marks you
at the end of every word
cause convulsions
like the pauses between
the songs on the
discs I play
that you make for me
when I am not around

and I don't know what to do
with the coffee cups that clatter
when I turn corners;
they are hidden under
a seat in my car

so I leave them there.