There is an empty space of bread-box size,
Six inches from the floor and always close.
It was occupied by gentle brown eyes,
Soft nudging on ankles from cold, black nose.
I take my walks all alone and unleashed,
The crumbs under table stay where they fall.
Only the sea smell comes home from the beach,
The bright steel bowls take no space in the hall.
No nails will scrabble to joyfully greet,
The UPS man hears silence, escapes.
Gone, snarfle and crunch of phantom small treats,
The solidity of memory unshapes.
—-Long, small shadow is not where it belongs,
—-At this moment, we are in-between dogs.
She was my Special Dog, and really the Best Girl. We’ve been waiting to get another dog for life things to pass (vacations, etc…) but I am getting antsy for another four-legged best friend. The empty spot hasn’t filled in, even after all this time.
(And here’s the sonnet! Some of the iambs are suspect, but hey, we’re working to a deadline here.)