I've been writing a poem a day now for weeks. Much of it political or else about trees. I'm ready to have a garden to tend again and looking forward to planting watermelon radishes which possibly sound and look better than they taste. Website: triciaknoll.com
Self-Portrait with Clair
She’s number seven, a good dog in a long line of years.
Each new one finds a home the day the last one dies.
Friends say too soon. Grieve your ones that disappear,
give each their due, not privvy to how hard I cry.
It’s not tail wags or tricks or snores at night,
it’s how I need that known quotient of fur.
I know as well as I see black and white
that the new dog does not come to transfer
feelings from old to new. She comes as light
to a soul in deep despair, a child of loneliness
eager to nose in deep, give a hand caress
to a mute, receptive head eager to be liked.
I bring home a faithful creature I need
for me, not her, a self-serving deed.
© 2017 Tricia Knoll
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF