I sit mindlessly on the floor playing solitaire for the seventh time
Numbness like nova cane
Numbness that blurs the stars
Sadness that plays with my hair parting it over and over
Eyes float through the succession of blinks
They flood, spilling over, trickling down my cold, pale face
They fall on my spaghetti-stained t-shirt
I force thoughts down, dreadful, unwarranted
Hues of warm yellow fade into the carpet from the adjacent window
Light feels good
Luther, my incorrigible black poodle abruptly takes over my space
He stumbles in, falls at my stubby feet and swears he’ll always love me
His thick black hair is matted beyond repair
His breath, simple, like coffee grounds, endears
Shiny coal eyes that look at me like my mother
Eyes that fall all over me, wanting no more of me than I bring
No pretense
No foul
Luther’s presence, his acceptance, his warmth, negates thoughts now adrift
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Author:
Katie B. (
Online) - Published: April 22nd, 2026 05:49
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem will go live on The Rue Scribe, Tuesday, May 5th, 2026!!
- Category: Short story
- Views: 5
Online)
Comments2
The dog is always there when people are not and even when we ourselves are not. Dog is god in a mirror.
Long way to travel to a street in France ... think I'll settle for a read here; the hound sounds like the right kind of company.
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