She will shield the book
when thunder cracks
trees tremble
and blue-speckled eggs splat
on the sidewalk.
She will rescue the book
from dusty decay
on the basement shelf
and cardboard boxes of
roadside rubbish.
She will shield the book
from the teacher’s glare,
the judge’s fist,
and the preacher’s voice that
cracks like thunder.
She will rescue the book
for all the times
the book
rescued her.
Somewhere,
Last night, two lay awake,
seperate - yet, connected
by the scent of each other
still lingering on their skin.
One listens to the labored breathing
of a sick child - the other,
the distant voice of a sports commentator.
In another life, they would be curled
together in front of the fireplace
of some picture-perfect home.
But he, the ever-loyal Chocolate Lab,
and she, a mixed breed - the kind
you find for free in a Wal-Mart parking lot -
will never rest together.
She rolls over,
buries her nose deep
in her flesh, and sighs
Good-night.
Copyright - Karen Heywood - 2007
