Onyx eyes, black beads,
glisten with wishes,
please take the gift,
toss gently, I’ll retrieve.
It’s only time between us;
you are almost all I’ve known of love,
though you may grieve
for what has been before;
I am now, and while I’m still small,
you’re all I want and need.
With time between us,
your love for me will grow.
Day by day,
week by week,
month by month,
year by year,
Perpetual motion
marks our lives,
cradle to grave.
Recto, verso,
each a new start
toward the inevitable,
inexorable,
final page.
The flowers in the vase
sit in green water,
heads drooping,
stems rubber,
celebration of beauty
worn by time, fading into
compost for future
blossoming.
Twenty-nine years ago today
I held a baby in my arms,
after 9 months of nurturing her
under my heart. Reading everything on
growing the best baby, checking off the nutritional
requirements every day,
doing my best to be the best mom.
Dreaming about her future, who she might be.
Today, I hold a baby in my lap,
a black ball of fluff that wags its tail at me.
I studied its pedigree and now,
I watch training videos and imagine the fun we’ll have.
I might be a better puppy mommy?
We’ll see.
.
.
.
😉
I had some errands to do,
and it’s always so hard to leave you
after I’ve come home,
so I went to the library,
and the grocery store,
and then to fold my mother’s laundry.
When I pulled into the garage,
he told me you were in trouble,
I rushed to see you.
You looked at me with anguish in your eyes,
your belly hugely distended. I told you to come,
you went straight to the car, because the car is always good.
I raced you to the vet, my hand on your shoulder,
knowing.
I sat on the exam room floor with you
feeling your racing pulse and your icy breath.
I held you as you died.
Thirty minutes of pointless errands
when I could have been with you,
thirty minutes less pain you would have endured,
thirty minutes I will not get back, but will always regret.
I’m thankful for the fifteen minutes I had to hold you.
I’m so sorry for your anguish in my arms.
.
.
.
My heart dog OJ died of gastric torsion on Friday. He was fine at lunch. Dead at 5:00. We don’t know how it happened after 15.5 years, but standard poodles are deep chested dogs that can be prone to bloat, though it’s not in his line. I had hoped he’d go in his sleep, not suffering so much, but it was easy to request the shot to save him from his agony, though by then it was likely only moments of ease.
Isn’t it strange
how what you imagine will captivate you forever
can become stale and disgusting with time?
Like fruit fallen too ripe,
stinking beneath the tree,
time sometimes does no favours
to distant hearts.
Another year older
Another year wiser?
Another year employed.
Another year, analyser
Advise ‘er to be bolder.
There’s a string around my finger.
The groceries are bought.
The mail is collected.
The birthday cards are mailed.
The appointments are made.
The kids are picked up.
Nothing’s forgotten.
There’s a string ’round my finger
for remembering you.
The dog pulls you down the street.
Your eyes are hazy,
Your hair is wild.
Your beard’s unkempt.
Your steps thud awkwardly like you’ve forgotten how to walk.
If the outside reflects the inside,
you definitely need some time
to regain your health again.
Beneath the dusty cover,
these pages are a brown tinged
crinkly time machine.
Shawn L. Bird 