Poems & Essays

18 Sep

Life-Lesson

General/Column No Response

I am making progress of a sort; after two days,
my nephew’s dog has settled enough to sneak
into my bed and make himself at home. I awaken

in darkness to hot breath against my face on a night
the mercury has dawdled near a hundred and kiss
his muzzle, knowing it’s been in my toilet. I’ve been

there, too, more proof species aren’t as different
as we claim. We both strain against the leash,
do mischief. He eats my daughter’s bra, my own dog

looking on in wonder. It’s a wise soul that recognizes
what’s extraneous. I only half-chide as I examine the brutal
underwire before chucking it. We’ve battled diarrhea

and damage, but he’s not all bad, eager at each knock
as if it promised his beloved. I’m sure when he leaves,
I’ll value him, like the man who found peace amidst chaos

by following his rabbi’s counsel to dwell
with his livestock awhile. Only after its addition and
deletion, can he appreciate the good he has.

 

Devon Balwit writes in Portland, OR. She has five chapbooks out or forthcoming: How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press); Forms Most Marvelous (dancing girl press); In Front of the Elements (Grey Borders Books), Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders Books); and The Bow Must Bear the Brunt (Red Flag Poetry). Her individual poems can be found here in MAW as well as in The Cincinnati Review, Sierra Nevada Review, The Stillwater Review, Red Earth Review, Psaltery & Lyre,The Ekphrastic Review, Emrys Journal, and more.

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