Northern Californian evening my husband drives back
to our new construction home, the one with hardwood floors
so shiny and
slippery our puppy slides when she tries to run.
Our pup has learned to take any opportunity we are not hunched
damp sink, the stagnant laundry, the catalog mail
to paw our knees or lick the Adam’s apple of our ankles to play.
saves lives while I make PowerPoint slides.
I picture him often – between my perfectly aligned text boxes
arranged like a Neiman Marcus holiday store display,
sometimes after I’ve recolored bar charts in a cascade of
Moore blues, I imagine him a chef before dinner rush,
getting his mise en place of IV bags and patient literature.
afraid to cut or glue, to blow-up X-rays, to second guess.
His hands are as sturdy as a surgeon’s, and on the seldom occasion
his stack of
intake forms and medical records falter and flutter,
his papers sing symphonies and confetti to the ground.
What is our
puppy doing all this time? She is learning to tell time,
defying the laws of gravity, and studying the origins of the universe.