About the death of my beloved guinea pig, Spots, and the arrival of his "replacement".
His fragile body is warm
in my hands, furry head
resting lightly on my chest.
I clutch at the cheery yellow towel
as if it were a physical manifestation
of hope. My eyes leak silent tears
as I hug him to my breast, ready,
if not willing, to let him go.
The witching hour has come and gone
when they finally insert the needle
full of bubble-gum-pink death.
He looks me in the eye, body so full of life,
and my eyes turn into faucets.
One thrust of the syringe and his
body deflates, a balloon someone
has poked a hole into. There’s no need
for the soft voiced nurse to say
I know irrevocably
his life force has fled, his tiny heart
“A Silver Lining”
My sorrow’s puffy cloud has
a silver lining – her delicate,
furry body a magical hue of
misty, palest gray and snowy white
in the places in between.
A tiny, twitching nose is
splashed in gray and contantly moving,
roving, exploring as bright eyes
peer from a paint splattered
monochromatic face. The muted colors
make her eyes seem overbright,
coal black and wetly shining.
Her vivacious life and sparkling
personality bring a needed smile to my face.
The dark cloud of his demise shines
brighter with her halo of light.
He is with her, through her, in her –
and she is truer.