Flinch

Seeing those dry pink sockets
where the eyes once nestled
I flinched at first, thinking the dog
mad, then understanding came
as I held out an unsteady hand
and called “Hey sweetheart.”
How fear nuzzled me then
like an old friend. The owner
rounding the corner in house slippers
and pajamas asked if I knew the dog.
As if he belonged not to him, but to
the whole block. And watching,
I could see that he did. Stopping
to sniff their way home, past that bush,
that young boy playing basketball,
pausing to listen for his human’s shuffle—
the pair of them nearing something larger
than old age or loneliness—
in the spring evening scented
with the first lilacs.




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This is my last May Day post. Thanks to everyone for spurring me on and for your comments. Apologies I haven't commented as much as I'd hoped. Planning a wedding, even a relaxed one, sure steals a lot of writing time. Have a wonderful summer. Hope to see some of these poems in print in the coming year.