Getting home from school I greet the dog that lives with me and
fill his bowl with water. He barks eagerly, longing for the fluid from the
tap. I used to sleep upon arriving, while no one was home-
after the day on the bus where I'd sit and wait for the bullet to come.
The mornings when I'd rival the sun in rising, counting steps till the bus
walked under my feet, smelling like cough drops and old newspaper that lay
neglected. I'd like to think it was forgotten, the time and place of
the paper as I offer my seat to a lady on the train. Kindly refusing with a smile
so everyone sits alone. Climbing up steps and making sure not to trip or bump
into a human soul lest the feeling returns-and I feel whole again.
Whole because its a piece of you, this foreign human part of the day
unfamiliar to the shadows that sliver by cold rooms into other trains, other buses-
To return home to the dog who waits the day not knowing time but the curve of the smile
that makes his sun dial.
And when its night almost morning I see the dog awake but tired, his bi-colored eyes
warmly welcome my walk down the stairs he's afraid to climb, his noble posture that of
a wolf who keeps the sleep and only rests as I lay my head to wake
an instant later.
