August 10, 2021

with Louka
all ‘old dog’ ill
we’ve been sleeping on the couch(es) downstairs
to make sure she’s alright
through the night,
and also to be close by
to sense
if she might need
to go outside at 12, 1, 2, 3 in the morning
(which has happens more times than we’d like)
and i feel like our low-key exhaustion,
the whole not actually sleeping through the entire night,
the aches and pains from couch-sleeping,
this whole ordeal
is mimic-ing
infant child-care
not to the point where i believe it 100% is exactly the same,
but to the point where, in the past, i’ve listened to stories
of tired parents
discuss how they’re just always tired,
it’s a fact of life that they never sleep through the night,
and i’ve thought to myself, “i don’t know if i could do that…
i’ve suffered from such insomnia in the past
my sleep is sacred now,
and on the off-chance i’m actually in a bout of semi-good sleep,
to have the cause of an un-restful night be not my own brain,
i’m unsure if i could stop myself from being resentful,
and i know i’m my best when i get 7-8 hours of sleep,
or a night or two of less than four,
but these parents are talking about a near year of 3-5 hour nights
and i just don’t think
i can.”
but this experience,
this mimic-ing,
it’s taught me
that when one is the caretaker
of a being they love without conditions
lack of sleep isn’t really that big of a deal,
and (similar to how i survived high school)
there’s a certain point where exhaustion
just becomes your daily natural state
and you just
kind of
deal.

July 23, 2021

i can’t seem to make my fingers type,
my brain to process,
my mind to wake up,
my body to…do anything but crave coffee.

i passed the 100th day of writing daily poetry
and of course i forgot all about it
in favor of writing a poem that was relatively mundane,
but also full of hope and potential and change
and, ultimately, relatability.

i assumed i’d write about the 100 days
(and subsequent forgotten anniversary)
the following day,
the one hundred and first day,
look back on the full hundred days,
look forward towards two hundred and sixty four more
but Louka needed us
badly
yesterday
so we were with her,
and my only poem was an invocation
a hope
that everything would be okay.

while it’s not perfectly okay now,
it’s not terrible.
still scary
for all of us,
but it’s not a stroke,
it doesn’t seem neurological,
and we’ll continue sleeping on the couch next to her
and carrying her up and down our fourth floor Brooklyn walk-up
for as long as we all need.

because
our dog
is the goodest dog,
she is,
and we would do anything and everything for her,
including buying a house.

July 22, 2021

i wish
i could say
to my dog
‘it’s okay,
i’m here to help you,
i won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again’

i wish
i could say
to my dog
‘it’s okay,
the loud noises on the street
that you can’t see with your cataract eyes
aren’t here to hurt you at all.’

i wish
i could say
to my dog
‘it’s okay,
your legs are just asleep,
if you let me hold you and massage your hips
and give it time
you’ll be back up to acting like a puppy in no time’

but she doesn’t understand
foolish english
so, instead, i use calming tones
(and dog-calming music)
and gently smooth her fur
while murmuring
‘it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…’
and hope that gets the idea across.

June 12, 2021 (part 2)

travels usually take
hours upon hours upon hours
(our go-to vacation spots/chill with family spots
have historically taken 8-ish hours.)
(tack onto that traffic/stops with dog/
my tiny bladder/
mostly traveling in seasons bombarded with snow;
our bodies are prepared for travel
to be the only event in a day.)

so when a “vacation trip” takes four/four and a half hours
(five-fifteen with stops/the traffic that inevitably erupts around nyc)
there is an excess of energy when we arrive at our destination.

but the question for tonight was:
“is that enough to meet one young child and two toddlers?”

and the answer was,
unequivocally
“yes!”

[although the dog with bows through her fur
may profess otherwise]

September 14, 2020

[a letter to Louka the dog]

i hope, Louka, you are enjoying this vacation
and you find it a nice respite
from the loud scary traffic of New York

and i hope, Louka, you won’t be too devastated
when, in five days, we go back home
and no longer have forests to explore
and backyard decks to hang out on
and clean breezes to fill your lungs with.

and mostly, Louka, i hope that you do love us
and in everything are having a better life
than your first six years.