#2/30 - 2015

I caught a first shiver
of mortality
recently
on a visit home, wrapping my arms

around my little old lady dog.
Her middle has filled out a cylindrical space,
thickened significantly
since I scooped her out of the kiddie pool of her roly-poly siblings
and took her home with me.
I can no longer count her tiny ribs when my fingers move over them.
Her legs have bowed outward,
compressing under the strain of age and her semi-permanent
position as Couch Dog of the House.
Her eyes have clouded--though she could never see too well
through the forest of hair she would not suffer us to trim--
and unless prompted in the right direction,
she will bounce her tiny nose off of objects in her path
simply because
she does not know they are there.
Phrases drop delicately from the lips of adults around me,
as if I am right back at age twelve, little concept of passing,
of goodbye forever,
and I am comfortable in this ignorance.
I have been told, it might be her time soon,
she is so old,
she can barely see,
it would be the right thing to do...
But she still licks my jaw when I nestle myself around her
like I did when I was twelve.
She still jumps up into bed with me
although she needs an assisted path now, and
rarely moves once she is settled.
It may be her time soon,
but I cannot fathom that.
Although she lives with my parents now,
I cannot imagine my life without
her little ball of matted warmth at the end of my bed
plopping right between my feet to sleep
so I cannot move
for waking her.
I sat with her gathered to my lap
recently
and thought about all the things I should know by now
and all the things I wish I could go back to
and remember