At Least There’s Dogs

from Out with Lanterns, a daily poetry practice

I’m not feeling very poetic lately. 
I’m feeling upturned, upchucked,
flung, clinging by my fingernails.
But I’ve never had strong nails—
didn’t inherit Grandma Evelyne’s 
horse hooves. She could twist
open a screw with her thumbnail. 
I break mine with a mere tap,
then bite to the quick in rough 
times like these–days when 
nothing goes right and I’m just
grateful to the sun for going down. 
Grateful for bed and chocolate
and how when the doctor wrote back,
her kindness made me cry and
the dog heard my quiet sobs
from the other room, walked over,
head low, then sat, wagged her tail–
a feathered mop on the hardwood floor.

Sunshine Aloha Bunker Hill Barton