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183 · Apr 20
Arrows on Paper
Gabrielle Apr 20
She drew arrows on paper
Thin lines and angles
Head to hand, table to elbow
A neat triangle
157 · Apr 28
Can I eat your tumour?
Gabrielle Apr 28
Hey little friend,
Do you wanna play?
I could eat your homework
Then we could hang out all day

We could go to the park
Or chase birds at the beach
I promise I won’t bark
Or pull on the leash

Hey little friend,
We could lie in the sun
You seem kinda tired
There’s other things we can do for fun

Like stealing dinner off the bench,
Or hiding someone’s shoe
Even then it’s just as good
As staying up on tough nights with you

Hey little friend, what’s going on?
I don’t see you so much anymore
And somethings changed about your face,
It’s not like it was before

I bring you toys and treats and shoes
I run and chase and hide
But it’s not nearly as good now
Without you by my side

Hey little friend, you’re getting smaller
And more and more every day
No matter how hard I try
It seems you keep shrinking away

Could I eat your tumour?
Little friend, I’m out of things to do
I’m not sure how I’d get it though
Without hurting you

I haven’t seen you for a while now
The home is empty and hollow
Like the caves we used to play in
Or the tennis ball we used to follow

The sun has come and gone
Too many times to count
And I am getting much too old
To run and play a large amount

Hey little friend,
When you come back
Maybe we could just hug
I would really like that

And then we could play just one more time
The world would be our own
And though I cannot speak you’d know
I’m happy that you’re home
A poem about loss from the perspective of a pet dog.
Gabrielle Jan 22
My pen wore red, and scathed a struggling stroke
Black became it better, until feeble nib broke

Blue cried abiding stains, after much impatient rigour
Green was inconsolable, and pink was unconsidered

It was led who was left when all else lacked
That was until rouge eraser attacked

Is it a conscious activity of the precarious pen
To cease work as you require it again and again?
133 · Jan 28
The Goodbye Gap
Gabrielle Jan 28
When you say goodbye
There is a gap
A canyon between
That final look back

A still misty rift
Dividing the time
When the person was there,
From when you left them behind

After this cleft
Once the severing crevice is scaled
You pick back up your day
And whatever it entails

This sealed pause is not unlike
The quiet accommodation of silence
When one in a group speaks of something
The others must stop and balance

It is not unlike the dainty lull
Between the fall of two raindrops
Smaller than a wandering tear
Yet larger than mountaintops

Or the void which ensues
A breath out before it returns in
Our brief negotiation with nothing
At the parting of skin

Of all things
It is most by far akin
To the rapture between a releasing hand
And the something which was being held within

What is in this gap?
This signing ravine between stratums
Is it an ocean, a light
In the recess of two atoms

This gap is impossible, as are many
Not a synapse, but a sinew
A ligament to life
Connecting old moment to new

Inside the furrows of this stitch
Is where our lives grow
When grasp of the next
Is bought on by a simple letting go
Gabrielle Jan 20
She follows the sun
Like a cat lying in the grass
Or a flower lilting its head to the sky

Or maybe the sun follows her
With the wandering gaze of an observer
Inquiring her every whim

Like an adoring child, it chases her every step
Peers through windows
And on mornings, alights her breath

It wonders how one can walk such a life
Where warm wrinkled clouds
Never give way to night

— The End —