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Hollylane · 07-29-2012, 01:22 AM

Dogs
by Patty Paine

It's said dogs don't think
they're human; they believe us

to be dogs. What odd dogs
we must seem. So clean

and clothed. What dog would
want our upright

concerns, the responsibility
of thumbs, burden of metaphor?

They lunge into every morning, whirl
my feet, until I take them

to the park, where they gazelle
through fescue, scramble over

fallen trees, dart after quarry,
real, and imagined. Sometimes I feel

like a child with holes
in my pockets, every day losing

some small stone of myself.
But on mornings like this—the dark

branches ice-limned and glistening,
the good sting of cold on my face—

I feel freed from the cage of my body,
so light I might soar.

07-29-2012, 01:22 AM	#431
Hollylane Practically Lives Here How Do You Identify?: . Preferred Pronoun?: . Relationship Status: . Join Date: Jun 2011 Location: . Posts: 11,495 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 34,694 Thanked 26,361 Times in 5,875 Posts Rep Power: 21474862	Dogs by Patty Paine It's said dogs don't think they're human; they believe us to be dogs. What odd dogs we must seem. So clean and clothed. What dog would want our upright concerns, the responsibility of thumbs, burden of metaphor? They lunge into every morning, whirl my feet, until I take them to the park, where they gazelle through fescue, scramble over fallen trees, dart after quarry, real, and imagined. Sometimes I feel like a child with holes in my pockets, every day losing some small stone of myself. But on mornings like this—the dark branches ice-limned and glistening, the good sting of cold on my face— I feel freed from the cage of my body, so light I might soar.