Poetry Dog

I never knew what I needed

Was a good poetry dog.

One who

Cajoles me into adventure

When I plan on solitude.

Ignores her toys

To steal and munch my expensive bras.

Insists on snuggles

When the dishes need to be done.

But waits in the woods

Patient as a stone statue

For as long as my pen requires

While I pause to capture the shape of the stream with a few meager lines.

So I won’t forget

That this world is magic.

A deeper, mustier, more sun-dappled magic

Than the checkmark satisfaction

Of clean kitchens

And expensive underwear

And insistent, imaginary timelines.

Thank goodness Fate knew what I needed -

A good poetry dog.