Kimba (2)

Another one from my Thursday poetry group, this time making notes about a topic (my mother's dog) and then pulling them together into a poem.

"She,"
my brother gasps out
his voice
broken
with laughter,
"she has her basketball
stuck.
On her head."

Four years ago, this was
everyday life, the way she moved
through us, splitting the humdrum;
repainting ordinary with her antics:

like the time she ate our Christmas tree
leaving only tattered remnants of
tinsel and chewed-up holly.

Today, sturdy legs quiver.
The effort of old bones heaving
her still solid body
now too much:

creaking and groaning
she investigates, barely,
for the promise of food.

Still, there's a spark in her:

"She has," my mother gasps out
across the miles and the phone line,
"the ball stuck.
Again."            

Author's Note

I'd really appreciate any thoughts or comments on this one as I'm not sure of it at this stage. It just doesn't feel quite right yet, but I've been playing with it all week and not gotten too far.

(One thing I'm learning from poetry group is that I definitely prefer writing straight from the keyboard. Then pen and paper stage just seems to interfere with my thinking!)

Reviews

[asdarkeyesclose]

our dog is getting older, she has grey hairs on her muzzle now but she is still wonderfully loving, a true companion. i'd humbly suggest just letting this rest for a couple of weeks and then going back to it. i thought maybe edit a weaker stanza but they were all strong and worked like building blocks. i honestley think you've got a good poem here- you must not be too hard on yourself, trust your instincts.:)