Musings

A Human Touch

In the evening at 1821 N. 11th St., my two Siamese friends, Brandy and Bailey take advantage of the two living room chairs I have, and spend most of the night napping. The only time they look up, or move is when I stop by after adjusting the thermostat, and reach down to gently pet each of them in turn. They look at me, and make quiet mewing sounds, and don’t move.

As I stroke their fur slowly, and look in their eyes, it makes me realize how vital the physical human touch is, even for animals. They remain still while I pet them, as if to move would bring the moment to an end, and when I do stop, they relax back into their nap.

I’ve always known how much our dogs and cats need, and want, a physical, human touch, and they are not any different than we are in that regard.

I guess I’ve always known that too, but tonight for some reason, looking in Brandy’s eyes as I stroked her fur, I realized again how important it is.

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Where The Popsicles Are

Where The Popsicles Are

Post surgical thirst leaves
Dry lips and mouth.

Small ice chips soothe
As do the cool wet sponge swabs.

But someone needs to know
Where the popsicles are.

With their promise of
Cherry crystals and icy, cold relief,
Comes a sweet, wet cold that washes over your lips
And rolls around in your mouth.

A cold, as you swallow, that says things are better,
And you will be okay.

But someone needs to know
Where the popsicles are.

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Reflections

Music

You made music at the restaurant.
We made music on a mattress on a floor.
The music was sweet.

Days and nights of searching for both of us,
Adrift, looking for a beacon that would point the way,
We found each other for a moment.

A safe harbor where the water was still
With nothing but gulls soaring above,
Stars like diamonds and the moon’s reflection on the bay.

A moment now lost in time
When you made music at the restaurant
And we made music on a mattress on a floor.

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Musings.

Coming Home

Bailey’s on the window sill.
The kitchen light is on.

She sees the car in the driveway
And waits for the opening door.

Hoping to see someone else she knows,
She sits and stares at me.

I reach down and scratch her head,
And she purrs, still looking for someone else.

Cats know things, and feel things,
So she sits and waits, for someone else
Who might be coming home.

Cats know things and feel things,
And it takes time.

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Where The Popsicles Are

Late October

The wind is cold.
Sunset comes early now
Signaling the coming winter.

I sit, listening to the music.
Music that comforts,
Music that consoles.

The darkness that comes,
Wraps around me, a blanket
Of memories that makes me cry.

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