Baby My friend tells me she wants a dog. A Chihuahua. Tiny. Six pounds. Maybe seven. Small enough to carry. To sit in a car seat. Or a shopping cart at the store. A little dog. To hold in her arms. To cuddle. Like a baby. Sweet baby. Like the one she tried to have. Tried and tried. Years ago. But couldn’t. What Can It Hurt? My friend tells me she wants a dog. We go to Barnes & Noble today. For dog magazines. And a book. Maybe two. About Chihuahuas. Even though. Her husband still says No. To a dog. Any dog. But does that include magazines? Or books? I think not. That’s what I tell her. She agrees. But we don’t tell him. She Can’t My friend tells me she wants a dog. Searches Facebook. For Chihuahua rescues. Finds them. Likes them. Follows them. Texts twenty pictures to me. Today. At least. Maybe more. Homeless Chihuahuas. All of them. So, so sad. She wants them. All of them. You can’t. I say. She knows.
Laura Stamps is the author of 51 novels, novellas, short story collections, and poetry books, including “Dog Dazed” (Kittyfeather Press, 2022), “The Good Dog” (Prolific Pulse Press 2023), and “Addicted to Dog Magazines” (Impspired, 2023). Recipient of a Pulitzer Prize nomination and 7 Pushcart Prize nominations. www.LauraStampsFiction.blogspot.com
I feel the longing in these poems. Great imagery here, too, Laura.