Avery G. // BLACK DOG

I don’t remember when I first met you

but my mom tells me that you were meant to keep my dog company

and instead I stole you-

squashing your soft black body as I crawled away

 

I do remember scratching off your nose when I was two

I didn’t mean to hurt you

but the white cotton remaining made you look even more adorable

and you smiled at me

your sweet, soft smile

 

I remember being partners in crime

stuffing the hidden pocket on your stomach

With stolen treasures

But you would never tell

 

I remember running with you

along Central Park

the sun warming our backs

And when I would stumble on my own legs,

you would catch me every time

And I laughed

The kind that felt like bubbles

 

I remember pulling up a chair beside my backpack in preschool

so I could kiss you

and my teachers wouldn’t notice

and if they did, they soon learned that nothing could keep us apart

 

Not even leaving you at the airport

when my parents searched and called

voice shaking as they

desperately tried to end my lamentation

and we found you there waiting

casually chatting with Officer Brown

and she told us

that you were clearly loved

 

Except time

Time has kept us apart

because now

you don’t sleep in my bed anymore

 

Instead, you hide under my chair

alone and afraid

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