My dog is old now–soon to be eleven. Here’s a little poem dedicated to her. I so wish she could read this!
The Job of My Dog’s Paws
by Nayoung Jin
When the sun shines through the window,
the first job is my morning call.
Her paws pressing on my chest
till her dream comes true
the dream of trampling wildflowers,
rolling in the wet grass.
The second job of her paws is sticking
to my mom’s hand-made cushion
dyed by ripe persimmons.
When my hand tries to push the paws aside,
they never move an inch
feeling the fluffy cotton
like hands resting on Her Majesty’s chair.
The third job is ripping the cotton out of a rag rabbit,
making a hole in the center
like scooping up whipped egg white in a bowl
or like digging up white clouds in the sky
till every cloud loses its flesh
leaving blue scars.
The fourth job:
entertaining herself in the kitchen,
scattering a mound of broccoli, a row of carrot slices
chasing and sliding
like catching a fly just landed on the floor.
The paws then move to the next job:
scratching the bottom of the frying pan
until the spaghetti is all gone.
Their secret job must be finished
before I am done talking on the phone.
The final job
is to drag her belly silently, slowly, sneakily,
leaving behind only the smell of herbs and fried garlic
until she arrives beneath the desk
under the shadow
where everything feels safe.
Thank you for reading! 🙂 Be safe, be happy! Take care!