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My Guardian
Lolita, Karen’s black and white spotted dog
slept in bed with me last night.
I’m a houseguest,
and Lolita, Lola for short, jumped high onto the bed
where she’s never allowed to be, covering the quilt,
that covered me in the dark Portland room.
I opened my eyes, there she was, her nose pointed
at mine and half awake I thought I was a dog, too,
part of her pack, her daughter or sister from another
litter.
I hunched into a ball
so we could be the same shape, together
in our den, was honored that Lola chose to sleep next to
me.
Karen’s other dogs, gorgeous Great Pyrenees, not
herders
but guardians, were holed-up with Karen, while Lola,
a mutt,
was looking out for me
as cool fall breezes shimmied
through the cracks of the window, leaves on the trees
turned orange through the night, as a trail of dusty
clouds obscured the traveling moon, we slept
our dreams spilling over
into the other
Lola entered a long room, humans dressed
in evening clothes, their tall backs against the wall,
offering
her pearls and steak, while I was locked
inside a crate,
my paw stuck in the black wires, my tongue hanging out,
hoping
for the sort of kindness an animal may find.
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