You never learned to read but
you are old now and one day
in some foggy otherworld you
may have a knowing that this
is for you.
Puppy, I taught you to count to five
and have since counted my blessings
that the quick commands included my
fingers in scrambled succession -- one,
four, five, three, two --
as well as my voice, as well as
our happy eyes admiring one
another in this learning game
as the years grew to two digits.
Now, while your ears no longer hear
the commands, your eyes -- though hazy --
still can detect what my fingers tell you,
and your voice strongly barks the
correct numbers. I am
proud of you.
Sometimes, while you are sleeping --
harder now than ever before --
my love is so great that I reach to
pet you, often alarming you,
occasionally hardly able to rouse you,
and you gaze unfocused from your bed,
trying to return from another place.
Sometimes, when your head is turned
a certain way and I raise my voice to
just the right pitch and loudness you
react -- not assuredly as in times past --
but dreamily, like you know love just
came around the corner, and you
smile wistfully from across
the room, but you do not
come to me.
Written for dVerse Poets Pub Poetics, where host Mary asks us to write a poem in the form of a letter.
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