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| Click the image to visit this week's Poetry Friday host, Violet Nesdoly |
I think I will stop planning my blog posts. Every time I do, life sneaks up and taps me on the shoulder, raises one eyebrow and shakes her head.
"Oh no," she says, "Not that. This. This is what matters today."
And she pushes today's special at me, shoves it in my unready hands, turning to wander away without asking if I wanted what she had to offer, before watching how I react.
* * *
Even then, when I realized the moment had come, when I knew what I wanted to write about today was gone -POOF- like a wisp of smoke, the tendrils thinning and fading without apology, I knew at the same time that she deserved more than some old poem I found on the internet and posted in memoriam. Even though I had some great ones. Even though those poets said what I felt with words so much better than mine could ever be.
She deserved more than someone else's words.
She deserved mine.
* * *
The truth is
she was a hot mess
that filled up our days
with brown fur tumbleweeds
and late night
dashes through the streets
calling, "Daisy! Daisy!"
as she ran,
triumphant
in her escape.
Life with her was
a tail-thumping,
full-faced drool of a lick.
Soda cans went flying,
trash bags spontaneously
gutted, sandwiches missing
from plates left alone
one second too long.
A devoted foot-warmer,
couch potato partner,
vegetable scrap
dispenser.
A devoted friend.
There could not be
one second too long
spent beside her brown-eyed gaze;
the one she always gave me
before gently huffing and
resting her head on my lap,
as if to say, "Oh human,
I love you
but you are a hot mess."
© 2014 Kelly Mogk
