By Kristina Kingsley
She leaves the doorway, her red coat
disappearing into the white rays of a beckoning sun
Off to another, I am sure - perhaps to stroll through the park without me:
an adventure through the snowflakes,
two sets of footprints, a secret
hidden upon her return.
I smell strangers on her in the evenings
as she slinks back to our home at dusk,
when the birds have ceased to sing
and a deep silence endures.
Glass doors creak and scrape,
she opens a portal to the outside world.
Surrounded by the falling snow,
I am erased in the white.
Should I use this new cloak
to guide me further into the blackness of this starless night?
To find another?
It would serve her right.
But she calls me home.
Her slim figure in the doorway, shivering.
Puffs of breath protrude from her quivering mouth,
a cloud pulling me back into her warmth.
A fool, I must be!
To think that I could ever summon the will to flee
to find another
to love another.
When morning comes, I will lay beside her
to watch the golden rays of sun sculpt her supple face:
the most beautiful portrait of a new day.
But alas, she will go, disappearing once more
with a slam of the old wooden door.
I will wait.
On schedule, for the door will open
and her smiling face will enter
any moment now.
Yes, I will be here.
My tail wagging.