The Kitchen

I'm standing in the kitchen;

what was our kitchen.

You had a baking nook

in our kitchen,

a nook in which you prepared

homemade pizza and

gourmet cheesecake.

We shredded the mozzarella

by hand, always saving a 

little bit for our puppy dog,

so you could pour a pile

onto the floor for her to enjoy --

the same floor on which

we would occasionally drop

ice cubes, which she would

promptly grab in her mouth

and relocate to the living room

rug to chomp on.

Now the kitchen is quiet.

There is no more

homemade cheesecake

or cheese on the floor

or a doggie to eat it.

There is no more you.

There is no more Us.

Every Little Thing

I miss all of our

everyday traditions --

calling baked potatoes "tates,"

enjoying

"Whoppers on the Waterfront,"

and taking family trips

in the car -- just us and the pooch.

I miss seeing you bounce

and bee bop on the couch

to music just for fun.

I miss our inside jokes,

our daily family routines,

and our 16-year history,

a history that made me feel

safe and grounded and wanted.

I miss everything.

I miss you.

I miss Us.

A Penny for Your Thoughts

Every time I trim my fingernails,

I think of our precious puppy dog

who would drop everything

and sprint into the bathroom

when she heard me trimming my nails.

I'm not exactly sure what she was

hoping to do, but she wanted to be

as close to the action as possible.

Doggone, do I miss her...

Another Goodbye

I remember how ecstatic

our beloved doggie got

when she heard me

refilling her food storage container.

She would race down the stairs

as fast as caninely possible

to be as close to the food

as she possibly could,

hoping that I might spill a few

kibbles, or pour a pile

on the floor for an impromptu snack. 

Tomorrow, I will take the container

to Goodwill, as she is no longer here,

in what was our house.

Haunted House

I'm haunted by the

ghosts of my former spouse and

precious puppy pie.

Beeping and Barking

Whenever I hear the neighbor

backing his truck into his

driveway, I think of our puppy,

who always barked ferociously

when she heard his truck beeping.

Three Gals

I will never see a dog and

not think of you two.

Doggone

You entered my life

with a dog

and you exited my life

with a dog.

(a fine Sunday morning flapjack breakfast)

a fine Sunday morning flapjack breakfast

including one, petite pancake

for the pup

(You haven’t been kissed properly)

 

You haven't been kissed properly

until you've been kissed by a dog

that just ate peanut butter.

(Without my glasses)

Without my glasses,
the neighbor's dog looks like a
turkey vulture on a leash.

(Wet dogs smell like wet)

Wet dogs smell like wet
leaves even if the dogs have
not played in wet leaves.

One Fine Day

Note: I wrote this on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day last year -- a triply historic holiday.

On MLK Day,
inauguration day,
on the day
that a gay
Cuban-American poet
read a poem
to America,
I am moved
to tears
in the sunlight
of my study,
thankful
for the sunshine,
my books, and
the partner
our dog, cat and I
await, who will
join us after work
on this fine day.