Between Parent and Child and Dog – 10th Day of National Poetry Month
Drawing of Dog Before Stomach Wakes Her Up
At dawn, dog clicks across wood floor, claws like indeterminate tap shoes.
I can just about sleep on. These are neither Kelly’s straight-edged snaps nor the elegant slides of Astaire. Near-blindness has muffled her paws, cloaking them with hesitancy. (Sometimes, I think that she feels her way with her fur; its slightly matted, but still puffed, halo sensing oncoming walls. )
I turn over on the pretext of recalibrating her stomach’s inner clock; the truth is that I want to go back to my parents.
It is Easter weekend, but my father was the only son of a man named Robert. Hence, returning from the dead takes an awfully lot out of him. I’m not even sure how he has done it.
In fact, he has managed several times: once in the surf by my parents’ house (though the sea has always unnerved him); once in a passageway leading from their bedroom; now here, in their kitchen, just to the side of the stove.
My mother has yet to notice. She was preoccupied even when younger, even when not deaf, her inner gaze fixed upon the Iowa landscape where she and the tall corn grew, just outside a cunningly small-minded town.
And, right this minute, stacked on top of that inherent obliviousness are dirty dishes. She bends over the sink to wash each item thoroughly before placing it into the dishwasher.
Mom, I say, turning her from the sink. Mom, pointing at him.
At last, she sees; but now, upset that it’s taken so long, he turns away, his lower lip stuck out in an ashen pout.
Dad, I say, almost touching the frozen plaid of his shirt. Dad, I whisper,she’s listening now. Really. Don’t do this to her, dad. She loves you; she loves you best of all.
When I initially say those words, I picture my mother’s family–parents, siblings, forefathers–all those characters she has charted, defended, justified.
But as I repeat them–she loves you best of all. You love her too, Dad, best of all–I realize that they also apply to me; that even as I stand between my parents, negotiating, directing, I stand apart, outside that interlock of best love, a visitor to that realm.
A part of me knows that this is exactly as it should be. But still I begin to breathe heavily. Even in half sleep, I pant, as if I had been running up a steep hill, as if there were no possible level ground.
The dog clicks right up to the bed now, back and forth she clicks, back and forth.
Okay, sweetie, I say, pulling back the covers. Okay, I say, stretching down my hand.
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(The above is, I know, a rather odd piece. I’m calling it a prose poem in honor of the 10th day of National Poetry Month. I am also linking to the poetry site Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads and to Imperfect Prose. Check them out! )
Explore posts in the same categories: dog, poetry, UncategorizedTags: "best love" prose poem, dog wakes you up, drawing of half-asleep dog, manicddaily, prose poem about parents and children
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ManicDDaily 
April 10, 2012 at 9:42 pm
Whew! Wonderful. Absolutely! congratulations!
April 10, 2012 at 9:46 pm
Thanks so much, Don. You know it’s a bit hard when you post so much to get something right! (Of course, I wouldn’t have to do that, but it’s an interesting commitment.) But lately, my life a bit chaotic. So this one got to incubate a bit longer than some of the others.
I’ve found an iPhone a great tool as you can start something while walking around and then check in on it at odd moments. (Though I used to love little notebooks, I’ve gotten very bad about re-typing.)
April 10, 2012 at 9:49 pm
PS – I really do feel more comfortable also with prose. I’ve gotten into poetry because there are so many interesting poets around (and sites) but it is not truly my bend. (Ha! She says after doing nothing else!)
April 11, 2012 at 3:19 am
So what do you say about the write that has everything? Bravo?
Stands back and applauds, might cover it… Wondrous, my friend.
April 11, 2012 at 3:38 am
Touching. It’s like being in that half wake, dream state– where one feel transported, and whether it’s just a vision, or dream or memory, it’s a good feeling after that, peaceful. 🙂
April 11, 2012 at 8:29 am
smiles…to see them again…to stand in the gap of their love…even in the space between dream and reality as your own child (pups) waits for you…smiles…i like…
April 11, 2012 at 8:35 am
Thanks, Brian. You are so amazing to make the rounds like this! K.
April 11, 2012 at 11:53 am
nice k.. really love the story telling..all the touches like..where she and the tall corn grew… and the description of your parents, how the scene develops between dream and wake.. and of course your dog…i can see her…she’s so cute…
April 11, 2012 at 3:12 pm
I would certainly call this poetry, despite the form(used a lot these days, can’t remember who started it, of putting verse into paragraphs) But the descriptions, the phraseology and image, even the narrative here is that of a poem, meant to evoke, to paint, to decorate and enhance a snapshot experience to a burst of insight or emotional realization.( Not that I have anything against prose, especially mysteries and adventure stories. ;_) )Anyway, this is excellent, whatever it is, K.
April 11, 2012 at 10:58 pm
Thanks so much, Joy. k.
April 12, 2012 at 4:57 pm
oh, I really like this. I feel this moment, and all the moments that have lead you here in your words.
April 13, 2012 at 12:29 am
Thanks so much. K.
April 12, 2012 at 5:04 pm
{I tried posting a minute ago, so if it double posts, sorry!} I really, really enjoyed this. I felt like I was right with you in the moment, as well as all the moments that lead you here. really well done.
April 12, 2012 at 8:50 pm
wow. i am blown away by this piece of writing, and want to highlight it on my blog this friday if that’s okay with you? we choose about six posts every week to feature, and this is definitely one of them. so taken with these words. thank you.
April 12, 2012 at 9:29 pm
Thanks so much, Emily. Of course, I’d be honored. Hope all is going okay with you. Sounds like a lot of work, but you are handling very well. K.