Off all things, this morning, the dog at the door, waiting to go out. I’m slow — half-awake, naked, one foot maybe in front of another — and she’s impatient, hind-end *
wiggling faster than any minute hand. She’s old, this dog, and not mine and every night I worry I’ll wake up and one of us will be dead. But every morning *
she’s more alive than me. Like now. I talk to her a lot, since she’s the only one to talk to. The chickens don’t listen, the red-bellied newts have poisoned tongues *
and the trees don’t speak my language. I talk to the creek sometimes, too, but it only hears the rain. So, “Good morning, pup,” as I pull on my wellies. And *
“Wanna’ go out, pup?” as I find my brain and settle it into the cave of my head. She usually doesn’t answer, but for that tick-tock hind-end and the wag of her tongue. *
Of all things, this morning, the dog at the door, waiting to go out. She lowers her head in response, and from her mouth, a single brown egg. It comes to rest on the floor *
between us. Still-perfect shell
marred only by tongue and love.
How long has she carried this
to lay it at my feet, whole and
About This Poem: The dog actually did just that this morning. The truth doesn’t often make for good poetry, I don’t think, at least not those odd kinds of truths, but it seemed liked a good challenge to take a real-life event and see what I could come up with in poem-form. Also, I love the idea of a title coming back around as last line and I wanted to play with that too.
About Poem-A-Day: For the month of April (National Poetry Month), I’ve signed on to write a poem-a-day (eeks!). To make it slightly easier on myself, my rules are that I have to write each poem in fifteen minutes or less, and that I have to post it here on the blog as soon as I’m done. No edits. Just rough. Raw. Right out of the gate. (Of course, if you’re playing along, I hope you’ll post a link to your poem in the comments here — mainly because I’m selfish and I want to read them!)