A Night at the Animal E.R.

Of course, now she’s trotting alongside the nurse to run some tests. An hour ago she couldn’t stand on her own. I’m glad I had the presence of mind to bring along a book to read. I’ll have gone through five chapters before I leave tonight. Don’t ask me what any of it is about. My eyes scan the words, but my head is elsewhere.

Through the closed door I hear the voice of the receptionist on the phone. “Are you in the car now? Is there someone there with you? Is he still breathing? It’s okay, honey. I need you to calm down. We have to get you here safely and then we can help. Is there someone there with you? Do you know where the exit is? Take a left. It’s okay, honey.”

I wonder, how can this be just another night at work for her? But it must be. Add it to the list of jobs I would hate worse than the one I have. The nurse brings my girl back to me. I remove the muzzle while we wait for test results. I look into brown eyes turned a little cloudy with age. Trusting eyes. Loving eyes. Eyes that have been glad to see me every. single. day. for nearly 14 years. Astounding.

“I’m not ready to let you go,” I tell her. She thumps her tail a couple times and then lies on the tile floor. I go back to staring at the pages of my book. And we wait.

The doctor shows me the EKG printout. Her heart is beating irregularly. “The chambers are like dancers listening to different songs,” he says. The familiar lub-DUB lub-DUB lub-DUB is reduced to lub-lub-lub-DUB lub-lub…DUB. Meanwhile my heart is beating wildly. We don’t know what causes it. Drugs are rarely effective in treating it. There are pacemakers. [Dog pacemakers. Really?]

I promise to make an appointment with her regular doctor. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Come on, baby. Let’s go home.

The Elephant in the Room

There’s a series being published over on Vox Poetica called “Aspects of the Elephant.” It’s a poetic look at various viewpoints on love. You really should be reading it. And not just because one of my poems, Words on a Wire, is scheduled to be up there today. [But, if you want to use that as an excuse to check it out, who am I to complain?] It will be on the Today’s Words page today and then moves to the Poemblog page.

Vox Publishes Me Too

Well, I didn’t expect to have these announcements on two consecutive days. My poem “Reach” is now on Vox Poetica. It will be on the Today’s Words page today and then moves to the Poemblog page. I’m in such good company there too so make sure you take time to read some of the other great work when you visit.

POW, I’m Published

My microfiction piece “Valentia” was just published on Pow Fast Flash Fiction. Woo hoo!

Go look. And make sure you take the time to read the other fine fine work over there.

Less is More

Less is more
when, like love,
it is

limitless
boundless
countless
shapeless
formless
harmless
breathless
nameless
shameless

Reach

You reach, this time… it’s three
Touch the key, that’s touching me
The key, the type, the touch, the tone
We are sitting all alone
A thousand miles in between
Far too far to be seen
You are there, I am here
But we are closer than we appear

By the Frozen Foods

I saw a ghost today
in the grocery store
by the frozen foods –
that figures… cold as ice –
you stood there
staring at me
in that tone of voice
But you can’t haunt me
any more
the next aisle is fresh produce
I have moved on

A Walk in the Park

With my nose toward my toes
I walk in the park after dark
To exorcise my demons
Until they run
out of me
out of energy
And I play on my way
With my eyes toward the skies

She Laughed, and Heaven Filled the Room

I don’t really care for memes and I have rarely participated in them. Wait! Don’t stop reading; I’m not about to start ranting or meming [it's a word because I just decided it needs to be for the moment]. I was thinking recently about the ten questions that James Lipton asks his guests on Inside the Actor’s Studio. They are based on the Proust Questionnaire — a sort of 19th century meme. In particular I have been thinking about these two questions:

What sound or noise do you love?
What sound or noise do you hate?

And I’ve been thinking about those questions because my answer would be laughter. To both questions. The difference is the tone.

Joyful laughter is oh so sweet a sound. Guffaws following a joke well-told. Interspersed with conversations between family and friends. Children playing, their excitement punctuated with giggles. I can feel it feeding my soul, re-energizing me. If I could hear only one sound for the rest of my life, this would be it.

Derisive laughter, on the other hand, kills me. The bully or the taunting crowd. Teasing. Disparaging. Dismissive. Laughing AT you. Derisive laughter is the soundtrack of hell. If I could eliminate one sound forever, this would be it.

The title of this post is a line from a Johnny Cash song. When I hear it or read it, it triggers an intense image. A breeze rushes in. The room gets lighter, brighter. Colors are more vivid. Everything is more clear. And all because… she laughed. That is a joyful noise.

Doghouse Rose

Give a woman a potted plant
no matter how beautiful or rare
and you’ve given her
another responsibility
something else to nurture

I stop at the 7-11
and buy a doghouse rose
I carry the dying bloom
dreading my arrival home
while rushing to get there