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.


As always.

My tail wagging.