* @anddeathithinkisnoparenthesis - Tumblr Blog

now let me fill up. every day, there is more of me than the day before. pat secret, pat of butter on the plate. i am suspended in the air, no children's screams, no cigarette smells, only here can i flatten feet to the floor. he was a dog until he became dust. the old books waited for further instruction. old dogs and old gods each served their purposes. week by week, i soften and secrete across the ceramic.

there was an age when i had you, nose-tip to knee, so close you just missed the knife's edge as it fell to the floor. i hid from you so you could find me. i still think, even now, the couch long cold, i carried you for as long as i could. there are still walks i want to take with you. now, every dog i see on the shelter page is a piece of you. every skull has your indent. there was nothing special about you, about us together, except what we two knew. i still think heaven must be every dog i have ever loved, running to me. i still think, your first and final sighs were not that different.

if i could go back to walking that green field, i would. with you underfoot. with the three of us framed, gold and glowing, against the sunset. i live in the clouds now and i still never see sunsets like the ones i did in the midwest prairie. where there used to be bison for centuries before us, where the mammoths carved out a footpath that became a highway. i miss who we used to be when we were together.

driving my car, i remember you. saying a prayer, i remember you. even the music was for you. i went over and over to the warehouse for chicken, yours. the first time i was back without you, i pushed my empty cart. there was nothing to buy if it wasn't for you.

all the miles we walked. all the times we parted. all the times i hid from you, only to find you again.

a book is an invitation. get lost in the dream. when i was smaller, i had all summer to lose myself in a single book. now i scan. barcode reader eyes, barcode reading life. i call out to you, find you sleeping beneath an armchair. the dining room is outdoors. the three dogs on the street are never leashed.

there is still time to salvage the remnants of the day. some way to scrape the seconds into not-a-total-loss. if my grandmother's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother's grandmother saw how i lived, she would marvel. she would not stuff all this sorrow in her stomach; she would know the light and the written page and she would know peace. from one angle, the mirror is dusty and i have a good life. from the other angle, the mirror is clean and i should be sad.

i imagine indiana again. the wet grass pressing against my sneakers. the mailbox that frightened me. then, under the highway death knell, i thought time would never move. i thought 6:00 would always find you finding me at my desk, ready to be walked.

i thought, at nineteen, that whatever i accomplished, i would still be saddled with myself. i think the same, at thirty-one, with relief. i am not filled with bottomless hunger. i enjoy shoving the clothing away. everything added could detract from what is already present.

you aren't nosing the back of my right calf as i wash the dishes.

in my dream, i put you back on the table, and you are mine again.

you are dying. it takes all week.

all the minutes i didn't think of you when i had you -- i am making up for it.

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