For This Day
She tries to catch the crescent
moon in her teeth, this bird
dog crazy red girl, snapping
at air and wind. The geese come
suddenly, while she's in the midst
of her moon chasing scheme,
and throw her off for a moment,
ears perk and front paw lifts--
the expected actions of her breed.
I watch her as I walk past
headstones and mud puddles,
smile in spite of myself, lift
my own front leg in momentary
abandon of reason. I want to be one
with this world as she is, this red
beauty who wrecks my house,
who knocks my friends down,
who readily forgives. I want to love
that freely, want to want that openly,
want to forget being human
for a day. I want to jump in the middle
of the muck right with her,
drink from the dirty water, smell
woodsy and whole. The crescent
is our compass as we leave
the cemetery, her fur matted and wet,
my t-shirt drenched in sweat. We
have lived for those few moments,
have accepted one another, have balanced
ourselves in the chilly autumn air,
and, for this day, it is enough.
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