To a Woman
How do you describe
the feeling
of seeing a memory transform
into a person
as old and weathered
as you are?
In my head
You are forever
Sixteen.
I don't feel sixteen;
I feel the cloudy haze
of collapsed memory
of time reconstructed
into palatable forms.
Seeing is not
Just believing.
It is being
and we often forget
how to be.
To My Old Dogs
I love you guys,
You mangy mutts,
You incorrigible old consumers of
the inedible.
Over the years
You've eaten socks,
Asian pears,
Lego bricks,
A latex glove,
Carrots from my garden,
and a condom found in the park.
I used to have to steer Lily through the neighborhood
Like a rabid tiger,
Always looking over my shoulder
For other pitbulls.
I remember trying to walk you in Cincinnati
When in was negative fifteen outside
And how the snow formed on Napoleon's feet
in icy slivers.
I remember Lily barking out the window
At the homeless man
When we drove to Vermont,
I recall how Po foamed at the mouth
as a pup
because I let a little girl watch him
for a hot minute.
You once fit in a box,
You old goat.
Lily had muscles
like a bull
But now she is a bony ghoul
Who gets stuck under the table
Or beneath the fence.
Her head sags and her eye
bleeds,
And I am left with a gaping hole
Where my young dogs used to be.
Am I being patient
Or am I not letting go?
Why must the responsibility
Lie with me?
I guess I always was the one
Who took you on walks.
May we walk forever
In the netherworld
Bound not by the conventions
Of memory
Or time.
I love
Both of you.
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