Updated: Apr 1
Friday, you’re the best,
my favorite day and dog.
Would you like a walk?
At the door, I turn;
you are right behind me. (I
never had to ask.)
We may not share blood,
but our spirits do hum two
notes in the same chord.
You came from Tulsa
to Denver to underneath
our table, at home.
Of all the things I worry about, you are not one.
Anything downwind of the arboretum between your ears is a canvas for the paintbrush you wield.
The world becomes a little more colorful, a little more wild, and a lot more lovely in your wake.
Please Don’t Sleep with Your Hamster
Oh, please don’t sleep with the hamster you’ve saved up for months to buy!
Feed it and water it, yes. Cuddle and play with it, sure.
But please don’t sleep with your hamster, unless you don’t mind if it...
Down the Street
in your face,
eyes behind rainbows.
There are two of you now,
life laid out in parallel:
the baby that I carried and
the little boy grinning on two wheels.
Down the street, my heart sits waiting for me.
Oh no! Oh help!
My son’s begun to melt!
Right off his chair!
(He’s that puddle under there.)
If I were an eagle, I could not spot you in the middle of a crowd.
If I were a bat, I could not trace your face with my voice in the night.
If I were an elephant, I could not hold on to such slippery thoughts.
I am not those things.
So, there you are in the traffic on backed up highways,
ringing in the cave of a concert hall,
and spelled out in the letters swimming in front of my eyes—
caught by a current that is strong enough to wash you away, but cannot.
I will always remember your name.
Thank you for joining me. I am so glad you’re here!