Gigi watches me read
Jack Gilbert’s The Great Fire
from the cool Marmoleum floor,
not knowing I notice her unblinking stillness
in-between the lines and experiences
I could never hope to express so well.
She springs to life, golden ears back,
steel-blue coat shining,
and puts her paw on my hand.
“You want me to stop?” I say.
We go outside into thick air,
the soft buzz of yard work across the lake,
the smell of wet grass and the neighbor’s fabric softener
reminding me I’d like to write
as amateurishly and badly as I want to.
When we come back in,
we flop back onto the couch,
and I press my forehead against hers
to quell a headache
and a longing for more.
(Daily Writing 073)
Thoughts?