Jubilee by Vanessa Gonzales
You didn’t want a dog.
I begged.
Dogs live so long--
we weren’t even married yet.
It meant a commitment
longer than you were ready for.
You drove,
begging to turn back at every corner.
Muddy puppies.
A pack of baby swamp monsters charged me.
You slipped past the chaos
(so like you)
to see her peeking out
from behind the wood pile.
No one else noticed her hiding,
but you
coaxed her out.
She relaxed in your arms,
putting so much trust in someone
who never wanted her to begin with.
I understood her.
I imagine
a playful seraph gave her black fur
one, long, light-brown paintbrush stroke
across her chest,
matching wisps above her eyes,
and smudges on her cheeks,
then Jubilee must have stomped through the paint
(so like her)
turning all her paws brown as well.
You picked her up and put her in my arms.
I never let go.
(so like me)
I begged.
Dogs live so long--
we weren’t even married yet.
It meant a commitment
longer than you were ready for.
You drove,
begging to turn back at every corner.
Muddy puppies.
A pack of baby swamp monsters charged me.
You slipped past the chaos
(so like you)
to see her peeking out
from behind the wood pile.
No one else noticed her hiding,
but you
coaxed her out.
She relaxed in your arms,
putting so much trust in someone
who never wanted her to begin with.
I understood her.
I imagine
a playful seraph gave her black fur
one, long, light-brown paintbrush stroke
across her chest,
matching wisps above her eyes,
and smudges on her cheeks,
then Jubilee must have stomped through the paint
(so like her)
turning all her paws brown as well.
You picked her up and put her in my arms.
I never let go.
(so like me)
Jubilee "Fire-Nitro" Gonzales ♥
Nov 6, 1998 - Nov 22, 2012
Copyright © 2011 by Vanessa Gonzales. All rights reserved.
No part of this poem may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the author.
No part of this poem may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the author.
