Through the shine of the window
As the sun teases the flesh of her hero,
She stretches upon the mattress,
Annoys him with her lapped kiss
All across the face, begging him to rise.

Here at her bowl,
She wags and waits for his control
As he gets, a scoop full of her favorite yummies,
How she salivates drools with an ache in her tummy
My girl, she devours within moments
And then she sits, waiting for the moment
I submit, those doe eyes looking up at me

We go, the backyard retreat.
She gives her red flying disc
And I throw to the distance, hitting the fence
She runs with a thunderous speed
And we repeat until we both take a tiresome seat
And through her panting and unrelenting breaths
I see her smile and know I am loved,
By my most precious pet.

She was three-legged
and fourteen,
which meant
brave by default.

We slept
spine to spine
every night that last year.
My body curved to match
the curve of hers—
like if I molded myself
into her shape,
she’d stay
a little longer.

Some nights
I’d cry
facing the wall.
I didn't want to disrupt her dreams,
her twitching and yowling
like she was running very fast
and free.

Even with three legs.
Even with the shaking.
Even with whatever was happening
inside her chest
that I couldn’t see
but felt
like a countdown—
each wheeze like the tick
of something winding down.

I made her a collar-like friendship bracelet.
It was that first Eras summer,
where I’d stay up late
with grainy livestreams,
and she’d sleep on my pillows
with her eyes open.

I tied it on her
before I knew
what I was preparing for—
red and magenta seed beads,
silver letters:
Roxy’s Version,
around her neck.

I wanted her
to have something
from me,
in case she got asked
who loved her
at the gate.

I wanted the answer
to be
obvious.

We brought her outside
so she could lie
in the dry, scratchy grass.
I laid leopard-print foam pillows
under her head.

I couldn’t stop the dying,
but I could
soften
the ground.
She rested like it was vacation.
Like we weren’t
practicing goodbye.

There’s a battered, rose-gold statue
of a Labrador, ten inches tall,
on our front step.
I spray-painted it years ago—
not knowing
I was making a witness.
The vet looked at it,
then followed us in.

We didn’t speak.
Just walked inside
like it was church,
like someone had already died.

And we sat on the couch—
her head in my lap.
Their voices:
soft, reverent.

I held her ear
between *******,
like it still led somewhere.

I told her
she was a good girl.
I wish I’d told her
she didn’t have to be.

I said,
“I love you.”
But what I meant was,
“Please stay.”
And what I thought was—
what if she wanted
just one more
terrible Tuesday?

What if the birds
were doing something today
that she needed to see?
What if the pain
wasn’t worse
than leaving?

I forgave her body
for failing.
But I still haven’t
forgiven the clock.

I’ve let whole seasons
happen
without telling her
how sorry
I still am.

From the upstairs window,
I watched them
carry her to their van
on a blue stretcher—
small,
almost toy-like.

I laughed when I saw it.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was all
too real,
too stupid,
too soft—
and I didn’t know
where to put the pain.

I watched my mom
and stepdad
hug in the driveway
like they were trying
to keep each other standing.

I hope she knows
I didn’t want
the last thing she saw
to be my tears,
so I gave her the sun.

I don’t know
if I said “I love you” out loud
while her breath
slowed.

She’s at peace.
But I’m still here—
crying in rooms
she used to follow me into.

I hope she knows
I keep her beads
near my bed.
I still wear it
some nights,
when I’m spine to spine
with nothing—
and it’s unbearable.

I hope she knows
she’s the reason
I ever believed
in unconditional anything.

I hope she knows
I made her a bracelet
before I made her a grave.

From a dog
who never asked me
to be perfect,
I still wait
for forgiveness.

I try to be good
for someone who always
believed I was.

She’d say,
“You did your best.”
And I’d say,
“I tried.”
I just wish
love didn’t hurt this much
when it ends
gently.

I turned my back,
ignored its pleas,
but found it,
staring back at me.

I tried to hide it,
beneath my bed,
in a wooden box,
with a wooden lid.

But it shook the floor,
rattled the pipes,
knocked the door,
and flicked the lights.

I tried to paint it—
the colours ran.
I tried to shape it—
the best I can.

But it returned.
Caught unaware,
so I sat it in—
a doctor's chair.

"Doctor, please,
I have this pain,
something that
I can't explain."

"Listen, sir,
all tests are done.
Clinically speaking,
there's nothing wrong."

So I locked my pain
in the trunk of my car,
and drove it down
to the nearest bar.

The bar was full—
of people like me,
hiding their pain
for all to see.

You’re not an old doggy yet
But I know eventually you’ll start to gray
I remember when we first brought you home
all you wanted to do was sleep and play
You were just 9 weeks old, so tiny but growing every day
Now your paws have gotten bigger,
and your zoomies fill the hall.
You are still chasing toys and wagging tails,
though you don’t seem quite as small.
You greet me every morning,
With those bright and loving eyes,
A loyal friend through all the years,
A bond that never dies.
One day your steps may slow a bit,
And silver may touch your face,
But no matter how the seasons change,
You’ll always have your place.

The snow is thawing on the field
its white perfection turning brown
as mud and sleet become congealed.
The snow is thawing on the field
and ochre footsteps are revealed
from Milley’s paw pads pressing down.
The snow is thawing on the field
its white perfection turning brown

A pool of shadow
A black shirt,
puddled on the floor
Is it him?

Creeping around corners
Yowling up stairs
Heat seeker
     A patch of sun
     A roaring fire
     A warm lap (at the least convenient time)

No more
Nevermore

Gentle spirit
Demanding voice
A presence to fill a room
Emanating
from such a small body

No more
Nevermore

Always up for an adventure
New places to explore
The cat that makes a house
a home

No more
Nevermore

Purring soundtrack
Loving bites
Steady, everlasting love

Singing the song of your people
Heard only in memory,
Beloved

In the depths of my despair, when all seemed doomed,
A furry companion entered my life, a gift bloomed.
Rocket, a cat with eyes that shone like stars,
Became the beacon that guided me through life's wars.

I had lost all hope, my soul weighed down by sorrow,
Drowning in a sea of darkness with no glimpse of tomorrow.
But this feline friend, with his playful antics and gentle purr,
Slowly began to mend the wounds that time could not deter.

Rocket, with his boundless energy and infectious cheer,
Reminded me that life was worth living, that joy was near.
He would prance and leap, chasing imaginary prey,
Bringing laughter and levity to even the gloomiest day.

As I watched him explore the world with such unbridled delight,
I found myself drawn back to the simple pleasures once out of sight.
The way he would curl up beside me, offering warmth and solace,
Soothed my troubled mind and allowed my heart to find its place.

With Rocket's unwavering loyalty and unconditional love,
I discovered a strength I had long forgotten, a light from above.
He became my constant companion, my faithful friend,
A reminder that even in the darkest of times, hope can transcend.

Through the gentle touch of his paw, the nuzzle of his nose,
Rocket showed me that life's journey is not meant to be one of woes.
He taught me to embrace the present, to savor each moment with glee,
For, in the end, it is the small joys that truly set our spirits free.

As I look back on the days when Rocket came into my life,
I am filled with a profound gratitude, a sense of renewed strife.
For this feline savior, with his unwavering spirit and grace,
Has forever etched his paw prints upon my heart's sacred space.

Rocket, my dear friend, my reason to live and to thrive,
Your presence has ignited a flame within me, a will to survive.
Through your unwavering love and steadfast companionship,
You have restored my hope and set my soul on a new, brighter trip.

My father, almost shaken by the thought
of handling a dead body,
my mother voices disbelief,
saying she could not have done what I did.

I told them I had placed
the body inside a sack,
tied it with straw—
I told them of the stiffness,
the dull eyes, and the open mouth.

But I didn’t tell them I had stroked her neck,
like I did when she was a puppy,
closed her mouth, her eyes—
a prayer, a gesture to make her whole again.
I didn’t tell them the ritual
of care, small and sacred,
the tenderness that lingered
in her rigid, cold form.

I didn’t tell them what I was thinking,
what that silence did to me—
the emptiness of it,
what it had done to my mind.

Pet sitter from Saturn
Notices the pattern
Of floating rocks
Round kitty socks
And counts them as they go-

In twilight’s hush the sitter comes
With gentle hands, she greets the hum
Of furry hearts, once bright and bold,
Now singing softly stories told.

Interstellar, deep, where memories cling,
She feels the pulse of everything.
A wagging tail, a purring sigh,
The warmth of love as moments fly.

But time, that thief, it creeps and steals.
Now all that’s left are tender feels.
The blankets kneaded and graveyard heeded
And the sitter is left defeated
In the ash of the life she now chided.