Simultaneously,
a drop of
time fell
on a
barren land.
goes on… goes on…
created a
pond.
goes on… goes on…
created a
lake.
goes on… goes on…
created
half a sea.
goes on… goes on…
created
an ocean.
goes on… goes on…
created a
planet.
goes on… goes on…
created a
galaxy.
goes on… goes on…
created
millions of galaxies.
goes on… goes on…
created a
universe.
goes on… goes on…
created uncountable
universes…
goes on… goes on…
And still,
it goes on…

He was a puppy,
Blue eyes, stubby tail, floppy ears.
We walked every day
                Sometimes twice or three times
And he loved every one.
Chasing squirrels, watching birds,
Looking back toward me
Showing love the way only a dog can.

He got bigger, our times together did too.
Then my little girl was born into this life
          And suddenly I didn’t have time.
No time for walks
No time for lounging
No time for ear scratches watching rain
No time no time no time!

I wish I had taken the time.

Yesterday he crossed the rainbow bridge.
Seven years is entirely too few.
It felt like this could never happen
Like he’d be there no matter what
But I wasn’t there for him.
I had to say goodbye through a grainy
Video.
And now he’s gone.

I wish I had taken the time.

How many times I walked past him?
How many times I didn’t reach out?
How many times I kept on going about
My day?
But what about his day?
Wasn’t I his whole day?
Wasn’t I his morning, noon, and night?
Wasn’t my attention all he wanted?

I wish I had taken the time.

And now…
God ****** now… HOW?!
How do I explain to a 3 year old
That Duke isn’t coming home today?
That Duke’s bed will always be empty?
That Duke’s fish won’t need food in it?
That Duke’s leash will gather dust?
That we’ll never hear his ears shaking
Or his feet tapping
Or his “ahh-rooo” howling?
That he’s gone

I wish I had taken the time.

Why didn’t I just take the ******* time?

I.
Box fans and mowers drone below,
distant traffic murmurs through summer’s heat.
Memory presses: teeth and old thunder.
Regret. Punishment. Hope. Repeat.

My ears ring with histories,
sometimes cicadas, sometimes sermons,
sometimes her humming, barefoot by the creek,
sometimes the sting of my father’s belt.

Sunlight slants through bloated magnolia leaves,
thick as tongues,
slick with old rain.
It stains the walls with a color like yolk,
like aging joy.

II.
I wake in moonlight,
before the rumble.
Step barefoot onto concrete
still warm from the last sun.

The sky is full of stubborn stars,
hung from the last funeral.
I watch. I wait.
No birds yet. No breeze.
I stay.

I tell myself this is peace.
But the silence knows better.

My freedom came
when I stopped reflecting myself —
and started seeing the mirror.

Not to judge.
Not to fit in.
But to face the gaze
no one else dares to hold.

What you see
is what you want.
Not necessarily what’s true.

But look deep —
deep into the eyes of the mirror.
Inside… is truth.
Not the kind you polish.
Not the kind you sell.
Only the kind you carry —
or burn from denying.

Socrates whispered:

“Do you know who you are?”
Lucifer answered:
“Now he does.”

And I smiled.
Not because I liked what I saw,
but because I finally dared to see it.

We can get
accustomed
to being too
familiar
with the
familiar
paths in life
under the
mesmerizing
mood
of
moonlight
starlight
or
streetlight
and
wind-up
taking
unwitting
detours off
these
familiar
paths in the
light of day
and lose
our way.