In The space between creating–
NOT my special place to be
It’s full of sad and “arms are empty”
listless, flat and empty . . .
He gave me purpose
when I felt alone and useless looking for another place to anchor life.
How can smalls be so large when
large things are empty
and ceased to care or be the part of what they are to me
the smalls are nice and good and kind except for Maxie Boy bit mine
when I would try to interfere
with some imagined slight I might have messed with sense of self
I do not know
a thing so small can bring such joy and join me to the call of love I cannot feel when all else fails I want to feel
and loving is so easy with a small and feisty soul whose garrulousness behold
said not a word against me no,
but a bite, or two, would work for “no”.
I think a bite is much preferred to words or silences of hate–a bite–yes there’s an antidote for that.
But where’s the salve for punctured hearts and lonely souls????