Our Family Dogs

Sam was short for Samurai,
a lion like Akita, let me eat
from his bowl when no one
else was looking. He killed
neighborhood cats, then
one night a car killed him.

There was Popcorn, named
by my sister, part husky
she loved to run away,
nose against screen door, then
escaped on down the road.
We’d yell Popcorn like circus
vendors, until she came back home.

Ginger was part sheltie, but
thought she was a cat,
never more happy than
sitting on our lap. She
loved us, and we loved her
back, there was no other way.

Buddhist Dog

She squirms, arches belly up, 
scratch me, love me, don’t forget me
Eyes and eyelashes, wise and long, 
this one-year old furry seer, knows 
if you are kind. Sometimes I ignore her 
paws clawing at the sky, asking important
questions. How can you focus on 
anything more than me, than this 
moment, do you see me, really see me? 
Here I am, I love you. Where’d you go? 
Did you forget? 
You are me too.