[Stylist] prose poem for poetry month

[Ann Chiappetta]

311 words

Dog B

By Ann Chiappetta

 

1.

The cold air numbs cheeks, harness weaves me down the sidewalk. The
instructor is a "Good Juno," or a "Bad Juno," depending on her whim.  Spring
has been delayed, so has the transition. I ached for the dog left behind,
hope and excitement have a power-play with my heart and stomach.

 

2.

Waiting for the sound of paws on the ground, the metal whisper of tags.  I
grip the leash so hard it hurts.  The traffic flows past, businesses open
doors, routines are comforts. I am reminded in minutes I will be receiving a
new partner to begin and end each day, a new partner to share new routines.
A large head and wet nose greet me. I position myself, say "forward,". We
fly.

 

3

This is the place I sat before, six years ago, waiting. New, the same,
different; Jumbles and jangles of nerves leak out. The same doubts on this
day fester, Even more evocative. I know the past -- What if we don't make
it?  I am praying that we make it.  A knock, excited nose touches my hand,
licks fingers, Snuffles me. "Oh, boy, he's big," I hear myself say. I clip
on the leash, still stiff and new and get acquainted with dog number two. I
know, without asking, he is the dog I flew with yesterday.

4.

Post Script: two years later

He is a sweet yellow fellow, toasted darker on ears and tail tip. He gives a
nibble and a sniff; golden eyes Better than cash. He comes with a snow nose
and personality to match. He's tall and silly, works, wags, and licks -- So
far no one's gotten ticked when he sneaks a kiss. Guiding, alert and looking
for sights and scent, on the bus and on the street. Freedom with four feet.

 

For Bailey, 2019

 

 

 

Ann Chiappetta, M.S.

Author & Consultant

 <http://www.annchiappetta.com> www.annchiappetta.com

 
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Face Book: Annie Chiappetta/Twitter: Anniedungarees/Instagram: annie_bird_64

LinkedIn: Ann Chiappetta Iona College/Blog:  <http://www.thought-wheel.com/>
www.thought-wheel.com/

 

"The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates." ` Oscar
Wilde