Beacon
©July 25th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
What constellations, what nascent stars
What questions too blurry to form, spin around
In a mind that thinks in nasal pictures?
Patiently, you watch, and look, and listen,
As you smell the ever-thrumming planet
Moving subtly under delicate paws.
Your body becomes a long-limbed, loose-muscled
Shape of Waiting.
You stand at the door, smelling thunder about to boom,
Smelling rain’s fragrant gifts,
Smelling separation from Dad and Sister
As an ache, a hollow, a crater of loss,
For you don’t understand our leaving-ways.
We utter words at you, explaining
Our presence and absences, saying
“We’ll be back soon, we love you,”
Saying things that hum with love,
But maybe make no sense, except for
That sense of being included,
Of being part of a family, where people talk
To each other. Why can’t they
Smell meaning, like you do?
You shine at the window, the door,
A Watcher, a Sensor, alert, ready,
Swiveling around, your almond eyes glowing,
Looking out at the world, waiting.
Now, you turn to me, always seeking
Reassurance, and it’s a mighty weight
To carry, but carry it I will, gladly.
I will always protect you.
I will always love you.
I will always come home to you.
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