Place

I go to this place. I go to that place—later that other one. I move around a lot. I move nowhere.

Spitting Image

There he was, a dog so much like you. I was walking by a busy Manhattan street. Just by accident, I came across a doggie retreat. Behind a glass window, with many other dogs, there was a German shepherd. He was laying down cleaning himself. You used to clean yourself in a similar way. I looked. I couldn’t help but look, though I was late for an appointment. I had to stare. The dog noticed me and smiled. I couldn’t help but take a picture of the dog. It was almost as having you again for a brief moment.

My Beloved

There you were, on the shower tiles. The weather was hot and it didn’t help things. I changed the bandages around your legs every 2 hours. Your legs were bleeding but I did not know why. The vet never told me. Your large body was ill. You had been so strong, so full of energy and life. There was no cure. No hope. Now almost 6 years later, when I see a German shepherd on the street I think of you. I think of you every single day. I miss you. I miss the way you’d pull me on the leash. I miss your eyes looking at me, asking to be petted, asking for food.

The Woman and The Ice

The Woman and the Ice

A frigid night in Manhattan. 24 degrees but feeling colder. Bags were by her feet. The old woman held a thin blanket around her shoulders. People walked by on the way to the subway. One woman wearing a beautiful brown mink coat down to her ankles looked at the old woman and then looked away. The beggar’s wrinkled face told nothing. Her short white hair was wet. She took a towel from one of the bags and put it on her head