His eyes were open and stayed that way Aware and dignified, right up to the end. A mensch, reserved, not prone to delay, Loyal to a fault, on that you can depend.
Saucy he was in the final hours, Demanded kibble, a last meal at midnight. Poured out love, licks, and reassurance.
Despite his weak body, his power Did prolong the end, enough so that we might Say woof, shed our tears, take one last dance.
He knew it was the end. We, quite sure, thought that he would rally. He lay quiet, dignified, a friend and most trusted ally.
Though she covered politics at the Tribune, Jenny wrote nothing but romance. Her approach came from a place of genuine empathy, perhaps because she was having an affair with the mayor of Topeka at the time.
The mayor’s husband played along. He’d often wondered what was missing from his wife’s campaigns. Turned out Jenny was the secret sauce. Once she started following a candidate, they ended up in bed. This gave Jenny’s reporting authenticity and, being so close, she could zero in on the candidate’s humanity. It’s what the public wanted and Jenny’s motto was, “The reader is always right.”
The dog died under a fallen fence in a thunder storm. Marley suspected that Ginger hadn’t been ready to go. Sure enough, they met up in Marley’s dreams. Often, Ginger had advice. It was like old times, minus the vet bills, though it was odd to hear Ginger talking.
Their discussions got uncomfortable when Marley started dating a colleague. Ginger had strong opinions about clandestine office romances.
Marley reminded Ginger that she herself had been guilty of digging under the fence to meet a handsome Doberman.
Ginger wept big doggie tears. “If I hadn’t been digging, I’d still be alive.”
They sloughed into DC for the inauguration. They meant to get there sooner, but the polar vortex swept down and froze the engines on their hogs. They took a bus to DC. Man, they were jazzed. Trump would “Make America Misogynist Again.” Overturning Roe was a down payment. He’d keep his promise to protect women, “Whether they like it or not.”
Tex, the organizer, noticed there were no chicks in the crowd. Ladies, way too delicate for this weather. He checked his dating app. Every woman’s profile said, “Not interested. Back in 2029, maybe.” WTF?
I had a lover and then we split. He wanted the dog. So did I. I won that fierce argument. The ex settled for visits.
The dog was a steady companion, a good judge of character. He loved us both and told us so with sloppy licks. He sniffed the air in that doggie way that senses tension, anger, sweet innocence. He buried the bones of contention so that we could be friends.
Doggie romped, played, distracted, comforted in the language of liquid eyes and soft tongue against tear stained cheeks. Stayed close, healing pain with sweet and kind attentiveness.
Death disrupts life’s everydayness. Ends the companionship of eating together, Evening walks and midnight talks With friends and family.
Ends the companionship of eating together, Thoughts shared, words and deeds. These bring us close With friends and family, Confer death its sting through everyday loss.
Thoughts shared, words and deeds, these bring us close. Long before we die these precious threads loosen, Confer death its sting through everyday loss. Everyday loss creeps up, settles in softly
Long before we die these precious threads loosen, Evening walks and midnight talks. Everyday loss creeps up, settles in softly. Death disrupts life’s everydayness.
It had been ages since the mime had smoked. He sat in the shade of a spreading tree, sipped a mimosa, and wondered how he might pay for breakfast.
The most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked into the cafe. She sat, alone, at an adjacent table. The mime signaled a waiter, who brought a mimosa to the woman.
Her eyes sent an invitation. He rose, sat. The tips of their cigarettes glowed together, their fingers touched, made a slow circle. A crowd gathered, electrified by their mirrored movements, the chemistry between them, and the promise of young love.
Mary’s gone crackers. It’s her husband’s fault. Occam thinks the world is an orderly place. He believes in simple, direct solutions.
Mary disagrees, she believes in Chekhovian twists and turns. What’s more, she expects that if there is a gun, it will go off in the end. She is correct.
Mary bought a gun safe for the pistol that belonged to Occam’s grandfather. For months, she nagged Occam to lock it up. She pleaded, she threatened. The simplest solution was to stow it herself. She looked everywhere for the gun, only to find Occam out shooting at zigzagging jack rabbits.
Graduation night, Demeter made punch. Her daughter, Persephone, washed glasses and when they got to the auditorium, she set them out on a table where a senior class picture was displayed. Persephone was in the center of it all because spring was her season.
But spring turned to fall, then winter when Persephone’s boyfriend texted. Was he in on it? When she stepped outside, there was that hellhound from the shooting range who was always trying to get into her pants.
Blame it on the punch; she followed him.
When they returned, her mother sent him to hell and back.
There are things you tell me before you die. Hurricane fears, the way rain scares you, bad dreams. You regret giving up your apartment. You miss seeing dolphins from your window on the bay. The view in assisted living is more limited.
But you have memories. Paris, London, Istanbul, Beijing. You toured the Galapagos. A birthday treat from Richard. Doesn’t he need you in the apartment? Sadly no, I say.
Some things survive. You remember a sweet sixteen necklace from your father. The jewelry that was your mother’s. Richard’s mobiles and guitars. Mexican crockery. Still, some things you don’t recall.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 