As a Human
What will I do with this
heavy mood that sits
behind my eyes,
in my gut,
at the table with my father?
A puppy pounces air
among all the legs.
She’s in my care,
and when wound
is the shape of the ball nestled
in my stomach, and breathes
easily despite
my constriction.
And I know,
now, with this dog being simple,
that things should be simple;
that the restless weight
will fly skyward
once released;
that it is wild, and won’t return.
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