Posts Tagged Harry
Wandering madness catches me briefly
after I skip exercise, after I stress over
my lack of discipline, and the birds come around,
they mock me, but it’s not personal,
and the pigeons vibrate detestably, so I
send Harry through the sliding glass door, and
while he smiles, he makes a lazy but quick lunge
at the pigeons, causing me to wonder whether they
can take off quickly enough, but they plod like
C-130s and off they go, and I wonder, where do
they go with such sloppy bodies. My enjoyment
of Harry’s antics, his smiles and circling tail, his
wiggly glances, sideways, quizzing my sleepy stare,
my enjoyment chugs uphill, fights my shame,
and I stay right here with Harry,
for a moment.
Harry likes his pink whale.
I like Harry’s pink whale, too.
Harry mouths his pink whale
for hours like he wants to be
a mother. Confusion is whether
or not I want to have a pink
whale, too, or if I wish my
Mother would have treated
me like a pink whale. I had
a pink whale once. She’s still
cute as a bug but she’s grown
and doesn’t need me any more.
Harry will be snotty when we take his perch away. He is stately and responsible when he is on his perch.
Sometimes birds fly by Harry’s perch. He tries to be nonchalant, as if birds are not relevant, but for a moment, you can see him in a startled state. The blackbirds squawk at Harry, but he does not say anything to them.
Harry’s perch is dirty most of the time.
It might be cruel for us to take his perch away from him. We’ll need to replace it. I might get a trunk for Harry. I tell Harry that everything is temporary, even the best things in life. I tell him we’ll get along.
All of us should have perches. Perches allow you to see the world from above, and as long as you are solemn in your responsibility and not judgmental, perches are quite therapeutic.
My perch is in the car on a snowy day, but it can be any weather and at any time. I believe that my car is my most intensely spiritual refuge. That is odd and some people do not like that aspect of me. I don’t worry about that. I have a place to go, and this has been true of all of my cars.
I’d like to meditate with Harry on his perch some day. One time I offended Harry by telling him he looked like a vulture while sitting on his perch.
Black and white, furry mess, alerting all to her toughness,
three octaves too high, tensely rearing for retreat.
Five-pound Pixie makes her way into the day. Anxiety.
Leaves from fall blow around her and she is paralyzed
by fear of a storm that is the breeze of a March day.
Birds are flying now, flying low, and Pixie sees B-52’s.
I am who she is as we tear ourselves from winter into new life.
I am fearful of all that moves, especially beings who fly disguised.
She has Harry, Gracie, Buddy, and even Daisy, bitchy Daisy,
sibling pups who find her obnoxious but who would save her.
My siblings don’t protect, they wait for my barking and biting.
Pixie and I fear that we will not survive the next rip at our hearts.
She can hide behind a sibling. She is full of loving outlets.
Perhaps a human will hold her carefully. I need outlets.