10/1

I.

Today is the birthday that I gave you 

11 years ago today, I picked you up from the Vet 

beheld in awe that mottled trifecta of miracles 

wondering how much the world

was going to throw at you

“It’s not fair,” Mariah wrote

“Three Legs. Fuck it! SURVIVOR!!” the parolee Vato said

“Who’s a GOOD BOY???” I said

You were with me two weeks 

when I came home   

and found you hobbling on two legs  

so back to the doctor you went  

a puppy injury in one of your good legs

and so back under  

the scalpel 

you went.

Leaving you at the vet that night

felt strange,  

returning home, there was a new quiet 

and a new emptiness

and over the years I realized

that it would come one day

to stay.

I picked you up on 10/1

they asked

“When was he born? How old is he?”

as if I knew

but the only thing I knew was

that you were mine

Custom was to spoil you with a hamburger  

every year on 1 October 

because I was more strict with your diet  

than my own  

I worried how your weight  

would worsen your handicap 

while in some cruel way  

a lifelong preoccupation with food

and my weight 

was an albatross I carried  

since birth. 

II.

One January, many years later

you were home asleep and waiting

I was falling in love at an In N Out  

things like that you remember

And it happened when she suggested

we wear burger hats on your birthday 

they would become the Conditioned Stimulus  

before the burgers 

and you’d go apeshit wiggle-butt frenetic 

when you saw the hats from then on

That idea sealed the deal with her 

Love, a sweet ambush

in tearstained

blissful hindsight

Two years later I would pick you up

and take you to the doctor for the last time 

And her?

She was gone  

way before

then.  

III.

I didn’t get your burger today 

I dug your grave instead

I didn’t get your burger today 

I picked up your headstone instead 

then sat down to write this

then fell down

looking at pictures  

of you 

of her 

of the empty spaces  

I always knew  

would replace  

you both

IV.

You came to me in the lodge Saturday 

in the starlit arbor where bears danced

I sang and cried

And still flinched with the memory

Of you fighting as they tried to fix you

When I tried to focus on the prayer

I lost time

It was so confusing there

full of quiet and medicine

a place where I didn’t need light to see

and it was shorter to walk in the pitch-black night

than the bright eyes of day

follow the fire, they are your eyes

follow the prayer, they are your heart

if you have to carry the stone

you’ll never walk with it alone

I left there drained, still wounded but lighter

in the arbor I understood

that your gift was your light,

you were the fire,

a touchstone flame

setting ablaze 

everything

the world

and humanity

will always lack.

10/1/19. East of Los Angeles, CA.