Dog in Arabesque

This poem started out being about a walk Stu and I took. I realized as I copied it out for the second draft (I still draft in longhand, and probably always will) that the second half was not only a separate poem, it was the poem. The first half of the poem existed to get me — not the reader, only me — to the second half. The second half became the whole. That meant eliminating a lot of material, including most of the image that sparked the poem; it survives as half a line.

Dog in Arabesque

(for Stu)

In the kitchen I wait for the dryer to buzz
And think about who I am and have been:
The girl on her back in the aluminum motorboat
Watching bald eagles circle the noon sun;
The woman who still loves baseball
And never learned to swim
And is slowly becoming her mother,
A thing you can never know.

I reach into the tumbler and pull out
An armload of walking socks and faded underthings,
See in their scent a wolfhound caught
In the arabesque of a kissing gate,
And my grandmother who taught me
To hide these things on the inside of a line.


(photo: Wikipedia)


4 thoughts on “Dog in Arabesque

  1. You used to be ‘A Gift of Opals’, right? I just recently found your treasure of a blog and then a few days later couldn’t find it anymore. Today I noticed ‘Towns, Junctions, and Interchanges’ on the ‘Blogs I Follow’ list and couldn’t remember the site. I’m so glad I’ve re-found you, incredible poet!


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