"For a Friend"
I met him when I was four,
In a dusty kitchen with poor lighting.
He liked me immediately, as though
We had always known each other;
For him, loving had always been
Much easier than breathing.
My parents loved him as much as
I did, and he went with us
To Rhode Island beaches, to
Dew-soaked Adirondack fields,
And to my grandparents' secluded home
Where we ate peanuts on the red porch.
He loved to run, and I loved to watch.
Even now, I can still hear the click
Of nails against scratched kitchen tile,
And the panting breath after chasing
Robins and crows from the backyard.
I can still hear my dad's voice through
The cellphone's speaker, saying to me,
"I have some bad news to tell you."
The worst part was being miles away,
And not being able to say goodbye.
Fifteen years was more than enough time
For us to love a dog like a family member.
But all it took for him was a few warm pats
In a dusty kitchen – because for him,
Loving was always easier than breathing.
YOU ARE READING
Meraki
Puisimeraki [may-rah-kee] (noun): when something is done with soul, creativity, or love; when you leave a piece of yourself in your work. No matter what I write, a part of me ends up among the words. A collection of poems.
